Heir: The 99th Hunger Games
by Reign of Winter
Summary: Changing dynasties and additional hardships, the Hunger Games approach ever so close, as a blooming Heir is put at the forefront. The 99th Hunger Games must be the perfect debut, and she the perfect ruler. A Closed SYOT
1. Prologue I: Successor

**Prologue I**

_Successor_

* * *

**Caroline Snow**

**~17~**

**Capitol**

Life is a complex issue. Whether it be the conflicts provoked, the antagonistic nature of fate, or really just the singular notion of conclusion to ones existence. Regardless, it's safe to say that it can well and truly, be a bitch. A dystopian life, riddled with death and fatality, sounds like true hell. Yet, my fate has never been that simple, despite what my naive little mind would have suspected a decade ago. The innocence of my childhood, it almost makes me laugh in present time. For most, a life of torment sits and awaits them, the ninety-five percent of society that walks Panem today that is. However, my torment appears to be complex, just like life is.

Honestly, I never did think this day would come. It never really occurred to me, everything I had known before always seemed to have a sense of finality to it, as if nothing would ever change. My years have known a cycle, a constant repetition dictated by untamable forces. My position in society seemed only to be set in stone, to be pampered and sat on the sidelines, observing from afar.

He. . . was untouchable. The mighty Coriolanus Snow, the malignant and ominous emperor known to all to rule with an iron grip. Perhaps that's why I had suspected that I would never be in this position, it is difficult to imagine a world with him out of the picture.

The world as I have known it, has only ever been grasped by his authority. Long before it, nothing had differed. President Snow has ruled Panem for eighty-seven long years, he has worked his way up since the Dark Days. It's hard to imagine really, in my young age of seventeen. To be fair this tortured nation is nothing but consistent. The very notion that things were different almost a century ago, it's mind-boggling.

Panem once lived in peace, no wars, no famine, no wretched Hunger Games. People had a sense of freedom, once the America's had recovered from catastrophe. To think, that once long ago _everyone_ was prosperous. Until the Capitol became greedy of course. What was once the central capital city for a booming nation became the sole position of wealth and power. And oh how our power grew.

Upon confrontation, we retaliated with brute force. Thirteen districts, suddenly beneath us in all fields of life. With the exception of three Districts, those being One, Two, and Four, those that challenged us were simply conquered for stepping out of line. Our biggest threat, District 13, seemingly wiped off of the map to make an 'example'. Devastation and disarray, the things we enforce up to the current day.

What good does it do him now? Does it make his cold snake lips curl into a smirk? Perhaps his milky, glassy eyes light up with amusement over others suffering? I suppose I'll never have the chance to ask, considering the circumstances.

My eyes scan over the frail old figure, having seen it wither away for month's prior. It's a miracle really, that he had survived so long. His hands rest upon his stomach, placed over one another. The blackened veins underneath his pasty, waxy skin connect like a web of lines up his non-concealed flesh. Those snake lips of his are slightly parted, almost as if he had passed only moments prior. His traditionally cold, silver eyes, concealed by forever-closed eyelids, likely becoming milkier by the day. They say President Snow was once a handsome, charismatic young man. There is no resemblance of the charming man that wormed his way into power all those years ago, only the face of overwhelming mortality.

This, the day I never thought would come. The day Coriolanus Snow would die. A reality that never seemed realistic, that is much too relevant now. President Snow was never a visually expressive person, always coming across as cold, and calculated. However, seeing him here now, reminds me of how I used to see him. His soft, unwrinkled face, from joyous times where he wasn't so troubled. He looks peaceful now, a look that I can coincide with fond memories, some of the few I have with him.

As President, he evidently had little time for me, something I cannot really blame him for. Happy times spent with him were sparse, but there were some nonetheless. Many revolved around watching the damned Hunger Games, much to my guilt. From times before I knew better, when my greatest concern was whether or not my favorite tributes would win. We would watch them together, and with my childlike mind, I would rave about them, I would validate his abomination. I feel a shudder run down my spine, a sinking feeling of guilt beginning to form in my chest.

It had been about four Hunger Games that passed, until I realized my favorites kept winning, almost unchallenged. At first I had enjoyed it, I had almost felt smart for rooting for the eventual winner. A few more years, and I had realized that President Snow had them rigged to go my way. I remember I had thought little of it for a while, until I came to understand how unfair it was on the rest of the tributes. I stopped giving running commentaries on my thoughts for the Games, and in turn, President Snow's blinding veil of influence began to lift from my vision. I grew distant, bitter, angry even, at what we were doing to these kids.

The last time I watched the Hunger Games with President Snow was the 92nd Hunger Games, but by then, my rose colored glasses were long and truly destroyed. No longer would I entertain the thought of enjoying what he had created. Those fond memories turned into twisted, burning scrap heaps.

President Snow never seemed truly happy after that, in fact, I always suspected that his faded happiness was what triggered his spiral into a deteriorated state. By no means had I ever outright confronted him with my opinions, I'm sure doing such a thing would have resulted in him shunning me completely. I always got the sense however, that he secretly knew my stance. That was however, until today.

I turn away from his resting body, numbly finding my way aside from the commotion. The Capitol had already paid their respects to President Snow in the public funeral, leaving only this private service before his body is buried. Today was the final day of grieving, which had lasted for a weeks worth. His body had toured Panem to every District, so they too could pay their 'respects'. From my understanding, it was mandatory that citizens attended in their respective District's. I had been asked if I would attend, but I denied. I couldn't bear to see the punishment that many would receive for either not attending, or showing their own form of rebellion.

My thoughts are distracted upon receiving a light tap on my shoulder, accompanied by a soft voice.

"Miss Snow, I'm very sorry for your loss."

The voice belongs to a reasonably young woman, possibly in her late twenties, or early thirties. My eyes meet hers, causing me to instantly notice the piercing pink iris both her eyes possess. Her lips are coated in a gloss of the same color, whilst her skin is a snowy white that contrasts the pinks nicely. Her hair matches her eyes, leading me to suspect she indeed likes her pink. It sways in a shoulder length bob cut, with bangs lightly grazing her eyelashes. She sweeps them away from her eyes, as she tries to put on a comforting smile.

I can tell she has never had to console someone before, not that it matters too much considering my lack of real care over President Snow's passing.

"Don't be," I respond, returning her smile. "I'm at peace with it."

"Oh. . . that's great! I mean, not this whole situation of course, but the fact that you're coping well!" The woman speaks up, clearly trying to tread carefully with her words. I don't blame her, most people are cautious of me, being who I am of course. They expect me to be as cold and hostile as my great grandfather, it's quite understandable.

"You could say that," I shrug, feeling quite awkward about how monotone I'm coming across.

_This woman probably thinks I'm evil, seeing how little I care for my own family members passing._

"I'm so sorry - I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Lillian Kross, I prefer to go by Lillie, I'm from the Council of Panem. . . I'm all very new to this," Lillie murmurs, stumbling over her words and rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. I raise an eyebrow upon hearing where she is from, slightly taken aback. The Council of Panem is essentially the ruling group beneath the role of presidency. Seeing as my Great Grandfather had been President for so long, the Council of Panem hasn't been required to step up for decades. To hear them already taking action now is surprising, they were an after thought in my mind.

"Oh, how can I help you?" I reply softly. Lillie bites her lip, glancing around before looking back at me.

"This probably isn't the best place to speak, would you feel comfortable to have a word outside?"

I nod, not really knowing what to say, before Lillie stands up and heads towards the door. It's not hard to tell that she is new to her position, and in such a cutthroat field of work, I can't blame her for being so nervous. I follow her outside, where suddenly two burly Peacekeepers follow my trail.

"Wha-?" I mutter to myself, slightly alarmed by the sudden pursuit of Peacekeepers.

"Don't mind them, they're simply here for your protection!" Lillie exclaims, as we follow her down a corridor.

Before I can question where we are going, Lillie stops by a room, followed by an Avox opening the door for our arrival. I'm led into what appears to be a conference room, one of what I assume to be many in the building. I never really had much to do with this part of the President's Mansion during the years, mainly out of choice. It always seemed so boring to me.

"I'm sorry to be forward Miss Kross, but may I ask what this is concerning?" I question, my curiosity getting the better of me. Lillie turns to me, smiling at my words.

"Very inquisitive of you, and of course, I won't keep you too long."

The Avoxes close the door, whilst the Peacekeeper's remain outside. This must be important if even the Peacekeeper's are exempt from hearing. Lillie pulls out a chair for me, before doing so for herself, sitting down with a comforting sigh. I follow suit, lowering myself onto the seat carefully.

"So essentially Miss Snow, with the passing of your great grandfather, may he rest peacefully, we as the Council of Panem have begun to move forward with transitioning the new President of Panem into their position," Lillie explains. I nod my head in response, not really wanting to interrupt her.

"As it so happens, one of the amendments has been closely re-examined, and contrary to the belief that there would be an election, it appears as if your great grandfather has decreed the position to be one of inheritance."

I stare at her blankly, failing to believe the information she speaks.

"I-I don't understand, what does this mean?" I ask. But I do understand, I know exactly what she means. My blood runs cold, whilst the burden of reality comes crashing down on me. Lillie places a comforting hand on my shoulder, trying to ease me into it.

"It means my dear, that as long as a Snow is alive, the presidency continues under the Snow name. You, Caroline Snow, will be the President of Panem." My eyes widen as her words hit me, the reality of it beginning to settle in. The very thing I have loathed for the last few years, the very thing the District's have loathed for a century, I have become that thing.

"No, no there has to be some kind of mistake," I utter in disbelief.

"I'm sorry Caroline, it seems Coriolanus wanted the role to stay within the family," she whispers. I look into Lillie's eyes, seeing for the first time, her genuine concern, her sympathetic eyes simply observing me.

"What if I don't want it? What if I say no?" I question her intently; desperate to know if there is some way out. Lillie shakes her head sadly.

"There isn't an alternative, we've looked. Coriolanus has issued this with the utmost of importance, if we disobey this amendment, it would end tragically," Lillie whispers. She looks around cautiously, before leaning closer to me.

"There are people tasked with keeping watch, to make sure this plays out exactly like your great grandfather wanted. These are people that would. . . 'take action', upon any disobedience," she informs me, voice barely audible. My forehead creases in confusion, trying to wrap my head around her words. Before I have a chance to question that comment any further, Lillie stands up abruptly, sticking her hand out to shake mine.

"It's been an honor meeting you Miss Snow, you'll be sworn in within the fortnight. You'll receive a summons from the Council in the next few days where we will enlighten you on all there is to know!" Lillie beams, once again enthusiastic.

"Yeah, nice to meet you Lil- Miss Kross," I reply, rather distracted by my bewilderment. I watch as Lillie strides out of the room, leaving me alone with only my thoughts.

_Oh fuck._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_(Please take note, this is my second attempt with starting this story. Although you may have seen this first chapter before, this is a brand new attempt.)_

Hello there! I'm Winter and welcome to my story, _The 99th Hunger Games: Heir_. I have been a fan of the Hunger Games for years, and have loved reading SYOT's in the past, so I figured I would finally get around to writing one and finishing it. Now, this isn't my first attempt at an SYOT, I have enjoyed writing them in the past on old accounts and such, but I never got around to finishing them, mainly because I was too young to properly understand a few things. These mistakes and factors that I have learned through trial and error, will heavily dictate the outcome of this story, so do be attentive when reading my guidelines. I'm here to write not only for my enjoyment, but also yours, so let's hope that together we can form an incredible story.

As you saw here, this was a prologue to show a little backstory, and form a little world building. Our main non-tribute character is Caroline Snow, the Great Granddaughter of the late President Snow. The story is essentially going to follow her character as she's thrust into the position of President, so we will be seeing a lot more of her. One thing I will mention is that this story will be graphic. I plan for it to be confronting, brutal, and quite vulgar. It will contain strong language, vivid gore, and possibly sexual scenes. I will put warnings before possibly confronting chapters, but if this type of content offends you, please think carefully before submitting. Now, next I'll be sharing my rules if you're interested in submitting a tribute to my story.

* * *

**Rules (Mandatory):**

Submissions should only be sent through PM's. I won't be taking any submissions made through reviews.

I am not accepting tributes from other stories/SYOT's. I want them to be completely original, as it isn't really fair on both the author who's story owns the tribute, or myself. If I do find out you recycled a tribute that was utilized properly in an SYOT (actually used until they were killed off), and I have already accepted, I will not hesitate to kill them off. On a sub note, I'm clarifying in order to prevent confusion, that you can submit a tribute that you have submitted in the past, as long as they were not accepted into that SYOT.

No Reservations! Don't worry, you can submit to anywhere, it's not first come first serve. There will be a deadline, so every spot will be open to submit to.

There is a limit of three tribute submissions per author. Depending on the number of submissions, for now there will be one tribute accepted per author, unless submissions are low. In that circumstance I am open to accepting more.

I think this goes without saying, but don't get angry if your tribute dies. The odds are that your tribute will be one of the twenty-three to perish, so don't expect it to go your way.

This is a big one, Review! If you have a tribute that makes it in, I do expect you to at least review what I am doing with your tribute. It means a lot to the author to receive feedback, and lack of reviews will not only deter the author from writing your tribute much, but also finishing the story in general. This was always one of the major factors as to why I never finished SYOT's. How am I meant to know if you're reading or not if you don't give any indication that you're reading? It's not compulsory for every chapter, but it's much appreciated, especially when you're not just reviewing when your tribute is featured. If you don't review, don't expect your tribute to last very long.

This is more so in relation to a lack of a rule, but I'm open to all kinds of tributes! I am willing to accept all traits and concepts; my intention is to simply do my best at bringing your character to life! Just no Mary-Sues or Gary-Stu's.

That's all for the rules, sorry if they came across as harsh, but I imagine most of you could understand where I'm coming from when it comes to these rules. The submission form will be on my profile, as well as a live recording of the amount of submissions each spot receives. This will be so that if you want to submit with a higher chance of being accepted, you can throw some submissions at low traffic Districts. Remember, you have up to three submission spots, so use all that you want! There is currently no deadline as I'm sure it's going to take a while to fill up all the spots.

Good luck and I hope to see some incredible submissions!

* * *

**Submission Form:**

_Please be detailed and descriptive. This increases your chance of acceptance. Also please remove any italicised text._

**Name:**

**Age:**

**Gender:**

**District:**

**Backup District:**

**Physical Description:** _Detailed, not a list of words._

**Family/Friends:**

**Backstory:**

**Personality:**

**Strengths (Max 4):**

**Weaknesses (Min 3):**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Reaped or Volunteered?:**

**Reaction/Reasoning?:**

**Private Session:** _What would they show?_

**Open to Allies?:** _Mainly for early-game at least, anything could happen late._

**If yes, what kind of ally?:**

**Thoughts on Careers:** _General thoughts, and are they open to joining them._

**Open to Romance?:**

**Interview Angle?:** _How do they generally act during the interview?_

**Any Viable Strategy?:** _If not, leave blank or say no._


	2. Prologue II: Devoir

**Prologue II**

_Devoir_

* * *

**Caroline Snow**

**~17~**

**President of Panem**

* * *

_~Three Weeks Later~_

I have never wanted to enter a room less. The doors stare at me, taunting me with the horror they hold behind it. Standing as far back as I can, I attempt to urge myself to go inside, breathing deeply as I begin to pace back and forth. I don't think I can do it; I just can't stand the idea of even being in the same room as-

"Madam President?" A concerned voice rings out through the rather silent air, stopping me in my tracks. I glance up, locking eyes with Lillie as she watches me from the corner of the room. Her arms are folded, with a frown locked onto her face.

"Lillie, what did I tell you about calling me that?" I cry out. She twists her mouth, looking down at the ground.

"But Miss Sn-"

"Not that either! It's way too formal, I'm already sick to death of it!" I exclaim, folding my arms in frustration. If I have to hear the name 'Madam President' or 'Miss Snow' again, I'm going to lose my god-forsaken mind. Lillie goes to speak again, before pausing to consider her words.

"Caroline. . ." She utters apprehensively.

"Yes?" I usher in approval. Lillie stops leaning against the wall, taking a few steps towards me. Her vibrant pink hair sways back and forth, lightly grazing the tops of her shoulders.

"You're so close to finishing this transition, soon enough you'll be ready to be President without my guidance," she says softly.

"I'm very much aware of that thank you," I roll my eyes, turning away from her. I swallow my disapproval of her words, biting my lip as my eyes lower away from Lillie's own amethyst tinged gaze.

_I don't want to be without your guidance though, _I internally pout.

"I just think, you're putting too much pressure on yourself." I scoff at her words, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Lillie, how can you possibly say that to a seventeen year-old, who is being forced to run a country?" I question quietly, trying to hold myself together. I sigh, plonking myself down on a chair as I stare blankly out of the window. I hear Lillie's cautious steps, as she approaches ever so close to my tense body.

"Of course, I understand where you're coming from. Trust me, I don't want this for you any more than you do. . . I just want you to know, you have me, you have your advisors, it's not all bad," she whispers. Pffft, yeah. . . only for now. I turn my head to her, feeling tears beginning to well in my eyes.

"Why me? Did he not understand that I wanted no part in his politics? That there are many more people qualified to run a nation than that of a naive airhead like myself?" I breathe, my voice wavering with emotion. He being of course, the late and great President Snow, my selfish Great Grandfather who never considered my own feelings in his decisions. Lillie glances at me pitifully, before pulling a chair closer and seating herself next to me. Her hand softly meets my back, patting it as you would a pet, or to console someone.

"I can't speak for Coriolanus, that mans mind was an enigma," Lillie chuckles. Her light-hearted laugh is enough to make me crack a smile, as I begrudgingly give her my attention.

"But you Caroline, are certainly no airhead. You're one of the brightest young people I've ever met, and I know you'll do great things, things that your Great Grandfather was incapable of." My gaze softens at her words, the praise doing a little to ease my discombobulated mind.

"I'm not convinced that Coriolanus would have cast this upon you, if he himself didn't deem you capable." I'm not sure if she's just saying it to make me feel better, or because she genuinely believes what she says. I don't know how anyone can confidently preach their belief in someone as young as I am, to do things as well as someone with years of political experience. Lillie has only known me personally for about three weeks; can she honestly judge my character and capabilities off of such little time?

I turn towards Lillie, biting my lower lip out of doubt.

"What makes you think that? What is there about me that suggests that I'm even remotely capable of following up after _him_?" I question her softly. Lillie smiles, seeming unbothered by such a momentous task.

"Because you're already twice the person he ever was," Lillie responds. I raise my eyebrow, pushing for further explanation to help justify her claims.

"Never in all my years, have I ever met such a fierce, intelligent, dominant young woman. You don't see it Caroline, but you're the better version of Coriolanus in practically every way. A leader needs to be respected, loved, celebrated, all things which he lacked." I snort at her words, amused by her opinion of the late President.

"You're saying everyone hated him?" I mutter, causing Lillie to bite her lip.

"Not exactly. . . more so that they, feared him per say." Lillie kneels down in front of me, putting both her hands on my shoulders and turning me to face her directly.

"What we need, is a benevolent leader, and that's what I see in you," Lillie whispers. Starting to feel elated, I lower my head with a smile. Perhaps, that was what I needed to hear. I know how much people feared President Snow; any mistake from a high-ranking official of the Capitol would result in either imprisonment, or 'suicide' by poison. The common populace of the Capitol would suffer even worse, through torture, or punishments to innocent loved ones, if they were the ones to misbehave. They wouldn't dare to cross President Snow, however it wasn't because they loved him, but because they were terrified of his wrath. I could change that; I could make them see that not all Snows are people t respect out of fear alone, but out of appreciation. A blessing in disguise, one could say.

"You know, a benevolent President would probably stop the Hunger Games," I point out, already knowing Lillie's answer.

"Caroline, benevolent isn't synonymous with stupid," she smirks, crossing her arms. I chuckle, nodding my head in agreement. Of course, as much as I would like to stop the Hunger Games one day, I know that cannot be done. I would be dismantling the close to a century that has passed since the Hunger Games inception, the very foundations that our society stabilizes on, that would all be for nothing if they were to be halted. Panem has lived in peace since they began, but ending them would only fuel another war.

The whole conversation I just had with Lillie, reduced to meaninglessness if I were to stop the Hunger Games. I would become the most hated President, at least by the Capitol. There are ways of being appreciated by all, and keeping most people happy; ending the Hunger Games is certainly not one of those ways.

I suddenly gulp, swallowing my nerves, remembering that even if I wanted to end the Hunger Games, I most likely couldn't. If there are supposedly people keeping watch to make sure that everything President Snow wanted to have happen is falling into place, who's to say they wouldn't step in to prevent me from ending the Hunger Games. I clench my fists, feeling a slight burst of anger as I curse my Great Grandfather. Still controlling me, from beyond the fucking grave.

It certainly doesn't help that I still have to do this rather undesirable task, one that I do question why it is so necessary. Lillie says it has been a major part of the post-game process as of the past few decades, as a way to better acquaint oneself with the Victor.

Essentially, after every Hunger Games, and a few months after the Victory Tour, the Victor has a meeting with the President, to properly meet one another on a more personal level. This used to be President Snow's way of keeping tabs on the Victor's viewpoints, and whether or not they're going to cause trouble. I don't see it like that exactly, I do think it's a good idea, but not for the same reasons.

For one, I don't think it should be mandatory, hence my confusion for why it's so necessary. That isn't to say I don't think it's a good idea, I just believe not every Victor should be required to see the President, especially if they don't want to. Many Victor's in the past have hated President Snow, opposing his views completely and would most certainly have not wanted to see him had they had the option not to. Then in the end, I suppose that's exactly why he wanted it to be mandatory, to see which people would be the Victors that would need an eye kept on them.

However, the other reason I think it's a good idea to have meetings with Victors post-game, is to see how they're doing, how they're coping, and whether or not they're okay. They're my age, and I can sympathize heavily for them, despite my inability to prevent their trauma. I want them to know that I'm not here to make their lives a living hell post-game, I think the best way to show my friendly terms with the District's, is to make an impression by being on good terms with their Victors. They are after all, highly influential figures, which I would rather be in union with rather than the opposition.

That's where the problem starts however, as not all Victors are people I want to even meet, especially the Victor of the 98th Hunger Games, who awaits me behind those damned doors. I shudder, thinking of him and his repulsive attitude. The boy that waits for me is not someone I would ever want to associate myself with. Yet, here I am, as duty calls.

"I think it's best if you begin, the sooner you do so the quicker it can be over with," Lillie speaks up, frowning at the door. I smirk a little at her attitude towards the task at hand, enjoying how it mirrors my own.

"I suppose you're not a fan of him either?" I question. Lillie furrows her brow, arms crossing as if she is repulsed.

"Oh heavens no, don't get me wrong I enjoy a Career Victor like most people, but this one thinks he's gods gift to the world. To think he now gets to handle another tributes life. . ." Lillie shudders, closing her eyes in disgust. She turns to me, looking rather determined.

"Make sure he doesn't think he can walk all over you, show him who you really are," she says darkly, gripping my shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

"Good luck Caroline, I'll see you at a later time." With that, Lillie turns on her heel, exiting the hall through a large set of doors, guarded by two burly Peacekeepers. I take a deep breath, standing up from my chair, and flattening the creases in my midnight green dress. If only this meeting had been done before President Snow had passed.

This meeting is being done much later than usual; in fact it's almost time for the Reaping's of the 99th Hunger Games. It has been pushed back so far due to the declining health of my Great Grandfather, and now I have to resume from where he left off. I hum a laugh as I imagine the terrifying, intimidating President Coriolanus Snow, speaking with this vulgar, resentful Victor. I'm sure the recent Victor wouldn't have very much to say at all, but seeing as I'm perhaps nowhere near as intimidating, I can only imagine what he might have to say to me.

I stand in front of the heavy wooden doors, with an Avox standing on either side of the doorway. I nod at them, signifying that I'm ready to embark on this task, before they scurry to the handles of the doors, and open them wide for me. The room is dimmer than the outside hallway, the curtains being drawn at almost all of the windows. I click my fingers, pointing towards the windows so that the Avoxes know to let a little light into the room. One of them nervously presses a touchpad to the side of the door, causing a slight whirring sound. Following this, the curtains begin to move aside, allowing the sunlight to flood the room.

Once I can see properly, I notice the figure at the long table that centers the room. A boy of eighteen years, leans back against the tall back of the chair, his legs propped up on top of the table, one rested on the other. Crossed arms, arms that rise up and down ever so slightly with each snoozing breath, cover his muscular abdomen. His head rests back against the chair, his tousled hair a chocolate brown that matches the color of the table. His heavily freckled face looks peaceful, his eyes shut to the world, and his slightly crooked nose still bent from a punch he received in the arena.

I roll my eyes in disgust as his snores rock the room, his mouth open wide with a long line of drool escaping onto his chin. Amazing, he doesn't even have the decency to stay awake as he waits for me to arrive.

Romulus Lindell of District 2, this is our Victor for the 98th Hunger Games. Oh god why did it have to be him? Romulus was the most abhorrent tribute there was last year. He was a pig, sexist and misogynistic, unbearably arrogant, and unfortunately a formidable fighter. My mind flashes back to the Reaping's for last year, remembering him throwing fists at people as he rushed to the stage to volunteer. I remember his Chariot Ride, where he stripped naked in an attempt to show how 'well-endowed' he was. I remember his training score, a sickening ten that just made the Capitol women gush. I remember his interview, where he revealed just how disgusting his views of the other tributes were, specifically some of the girls. And of course, I remember his time in the arena. Some of the acts he did in that arena, almost unspeakable.

Of course, he can get away with it because there are no rules in the arena, but it doesn't prevent people from changing their views of the culprit. Many of the things he did in that arena, of course the general Capitol audience ate it up, they love drama, and sometimes I think they forget that everything they see is real, all happening to real people. So after everything this creep has done, I'll be damned if he attempts to walk all over me.

From what I've seen of Romulus, the only way to stamp down authority over him is to make a strong first impression, one that would make him submit. Now is the one chance that I have for that, and I'm going to take full advantage of it.

Walking up to the table, I take a glass and fill it with cool water from the bottle beside it. I sip it as I walk closer to the center of the rectangular table, so that I am essentially directly in front of him. I finish the water from the glass, before I raise it far above my head, dropping it so that it smashes directly on the table.

It's an immediate reaction that comes from Romulus, as his eyes flutter open wildly, almost a scared lunacy held within his gaze. He almost falls off of the chair due to the sound of the smashing glass, desperately searching around him as if he is looking for something. I think back to one of the nights the Careers were ambushed last year, by a pack of ravenous squirrel muttations. He had done the same thing at the sound of the commotion, wildly stumbling up as he searched for his sword. I guess old habits die hard.

"Relax, Mr Lindell, you are no longer partaking in the Hunger Games, rather you're rudely sleeping in my absence, something that doesn't leave a lasting impression on me," I speak up, as I watch the Avox swiftly sweep aside the shards of glass.

Romulus breathes heavily, eyes still widened as he clutches his chest, trying to regain his composure. He glares at me, clearly pissed off by what I have done.

"You crazy bitch, what in the hell-"

"Do you honestly think, that's an acceptable way to address your President?" I interrupt him sternly, glaring at him with cold grey eyes, the very same my Great Grandfather possessed. He appears taken aback, not quite realizing that he was indeed talking to the new President of Panem. I can assume he is still used to Coriolanus as President, perhaps it didn't occur to him that when he was told he would be meeting with President Snow, that it would be I, Caroline Snow. Romulus straightens himself up, coughing to clear his throat as he snidely glances to the side.

"What was it? Caroline or something?" He mutters, not wanting to meet my gaze.

"You will refer to me as Madam President, if you do wish to keep your tongue," I instruct him, setting myself in the chair across from him, as his eyes wander over to the tongue-less Avoxes. I would normally shudder at such a phrase, commanding someone to actually call me Madam President, but this time in particular it's so much fun. This piece of shit human is going to learn that the world isn't his play-pen, there are rules, and he is to abide by them. The first is to give me my respect.

I cross my leg over the other, as I entwine my fingers up on the table. I tilt my head slightly, staring at him with a sense of amusement.

"Perhaps I should have your tongue cut out anyways, considering the things we all had to witness you do with that tongue in the arena," I suggest, leaning back to get comfortable.

"Or maybe a different appendage, one you utilized far more than you should have," I almost hiss. Romulus grits his teeth, glaring at me with malice, his face flushing red with a palpable rage.

"I do wish to keep my tongue. . . and my cock. . . Madam President," he murmurs in defeat. I lighten up at what he says - despite his vulgar choice of words - smiling in satisfaction.

"Excellent, I wouldn't want us to get off on the wrong foot now," I say. Romulus forces himself to meet my smile with one of his own, a rather frightening, sadistic grin. He loosens up slightly, having gone tense from the first few moments of our meeting.

"Now, I know you don't want to be here any longer than I do, so I think it's best that we get through this quickly, agreed?" I question. Romulus eyes me up, folding his arms as he leans back in his chair.

"I couldn't agree more Madame," he replies, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Now, it is customary that each new Victor becomes acquainted with the President, which now happens to be me," I explain. "I am no Coriolanus Snow, Mr Lindell, I'm much different from my Great Grandfather. I'm sure he would have liked you, he always appreciated the graphic and sadistic aspects of the Hunger Games, which we know you brought in plenty."

"You're Great Grandfather had good taste then," Romulus grins. I sneer at him, leering at his giddy face as he glorifies the acts he committed.

"One thing we do share however, is our expectations. To be respected, our rules to be followed, and for our Victors to play nice," I say softly, standing up and arching over the table. My palms meet the cool, oak wood table from District 7, as my deathly gaze locks onto Romulus' own snide one.

"You're going to be taught how to mentor this year, I believe by Cato."

"That old fool? Are you joking?" Romulus complains.

"He's only forty three, and he mentored you! He got you through the games alive!" I exclaim.

"I got _myself _through the games, what did he do?"

"He managed to make you likeable, _somehow, _to the sponsors of the Capitol. Do you think you would have gotten anywhere near as far if he didn't have some wealthy people infatuated with you? Because some of the things you did certainly didn't help," I hiss. Romulus scoffs at my words, rolling his eyes.

"Have you seen the way some of these Capitol women have thrown themselves at me? You clearly have no idea how fucked up some of your people are. They love it, and they love me for it," he grins smugly. I squint my eyes at him, smiling dangerously sweetly.

"Oh I'm well aware of how deranged some of those people are. However, I don't think you understand the full extent of those wealthy donors," I smirk at him. Romulus stares back in bemusement, his smug smile beginning to falter.

"What do you mean?"

"Those wealthy women you speak of, some of them are fanatics for the Hunger Games. Trying to convince some of them to sponsor your tribute comes at a cost, and I've heard many of them like to. . . re-enact, some of the more X-rated scenes they see broadcast," I inform him. Romulus' eyes widen, his face beginning to become a little pale.

"A lot of them really like their Careers, and if I remember correctly, you had your fair share of X-rated sce-"

"Okay! I get your damn point," Romulus spits, slouching in his chair and glaring away from me darkly. There we are, just what I was after. Submission.

"Great, now you understand what you're dealing with. As I stated before, Cato will be _guiding_ you, this is his last year before you take his place in the eligible Mentor positions," I inform him. Romulus doesn't respond immediately, waiting a few seconds before grumbling something along the lines of 'anything else?'

"You will be back here in a weeks time alongside all of the other Mentors for this year, we will be having a meeting so that I can become acquainted with them as well." I pause a moment to let it sink into him, before continuing to speak.

"I don't want any bullshit from you during that meeting Romulus, don't test me. I may not be the

President Snow that you knew, but I can end up being so much more," I threaten him, leering at his furious expression. I turn to grab a fresh glass of water, this time to only drink from, before taking a sip of the cool pristine liquid.

"You're excused now, we're done here," I add, causing Romulus to stand up and storm out, but not before muttering a 'thank you Madam President'. I watch him as he exits, feeling satisfied with how that went down.

Originally, I didn't think I had it in me to follow up the mighty Coriolanus Snow, but maybe I'm more like him than I thought. The issue is, I don't know if that scares me. . . or excites me.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**And here we are with our second Prologue chapter! This time we get to see how Caroline has adjusted into her position as President, how she's able to act when trying to be stern (known as the classic Snow Demeanor), but also just how insecure and doubtful she is underneath it all. I've also introduced a new character, that being Romulus Lindell of District 2, last years Victor and considered truly vile by Caroline. I'm not too sure if I'll elaborate on the things he did in the arena, but I think I hinted quite heavily on the actsthat it involves. I'm also not too sure if anyone picked up on it, but I did mention Cato being a Victor, which means in this universe, Cato won the 74th Hunger Games, and there was no rebellion, if that's something anyone was wondering.**

**How did you enjoy the chapter? Any specific thoughts? I would love to hear them. I still need many submissions as I'm yet to receive any, although there are a few kind people who have said they would, I'm now just waiting on them. I did expect this, starting the first SYOT is always the hardest part. I know many may be uncertain about submitting due to seeing this as a brand new account, but I'm not at all new to this, I've done this many times before. I just hope you take the chance with me :)**

**Expect Prologue III soon, which is all completed and ready to upload in a few days, with the fourth and (hopefully) final Prologue already being close to completion. I'm hoping after that point I can get a full cast of tributes! Until next time!**


	3. Prologue III: Acquaint

**Prologue III**

_Acquaint_

* * *

**Alabaster Welltree**

**~34~**

**Head Gamemaker**

* * *

One week. That's how long it is until the Reaping for the 99th Hunger Games. Time truly does fly when you are busy with work. It feels as if the last several months didn't even happen, hell, it feels as if the 98th Hunger Games only just concluded. Of course, that was just over a year ago now, a distant memory, one that I honestly wouldn't mind forgetting.

Nothing was particularly wrong with the 98th Hunger Games. Everything went pretty much according to plan, the majority of deaths were tribute on tribute murders, nobody showed any form of rebellion, a traditional year of Hunger Games, one might suggest.

The arena, my main baby, was a more than satisfactory one. It was a toxic swamp; a mire filled with flammable liquids, and boggy mud pits that would cause any tribute to sink to their deaths. I had thought it to be a rather unique landscape, making the fights much more interesting and unpredictable.

So what could possibly be the main issue with last years Hunger Games? Well, of course it had to be Romulus Lindell of District 2, being crowned Victor after a week and a half of his treachery. In recent times, us as Gamemakers have been asked to not target specific tributes unless it was absolutely necessary, such as if we had another 'Titus the Cannibal' repeat. So I opted to leave Romulus alone, let him do his thing alongside the other Careers, and see what happened. This doesn't by any means; imply that we don't play favorites. I am of course, quite guilty of that act, and more often than not, the tributes I decide to help out do often make it far, or even win. Romulus was not a favorite, that's a certainty.

Of course, whatever was thrown at him, he survived it all. He just wouldn't die.

I roll my eyes at the thought of it, taking a sip from the cool glass in my hand. The fiery liquid seeps down my throat, the burning sensation numbing my esophagus as it passes. I stare at the glass in my hand, gently swirling the liquid around to create a little whirlpool in the center. Ideas swirl around my head, generated by the lowly whirlpool of my whiskey, all pertaining to what could be added to this year's arena.

A giant whirlpool in the center of the arena, it could lead to an underground cavern filled with weapons and supplies? No, not enough tributes can swim, they would surely drown. Perhaps a tornado that erupts from the Cornucopia every twelve hours? It would force the Careers to have to stay on the move. . . not convenient, the Cornucopia should be a commonly visited landmark, everyone would just avoid it. How about, a tavern full of whiskey to lure in the alcoholics. . . I have to stop that thought there, we can't have the tributes falling drunk all over the place.

I sigh, shaking my head to drown out the ideas. The arena is practically finished anyways, the only things that need completion are the muttations of course, but their development always goes right up to the day of the Bloodbath. We of course need to see what tributes we have first; therefore we can cater to their specifications, when it comes to the mutts.

I glance to my left, staring out at the training floor of the Tribute Tower. People are hard at work, preparing various stations for positioning, programming different scenarios in the training simulations. To think how far we've come in terms of training options alone, once all we had were trainers and practice dummies. Those are the days of old, now the possibilities are endless. The tributes can program simulations for themselves, or put themselves into unknown territory through pre-ordained simulations. They can face different types of opponents, unique terrains, a wide array of weaponry, and limitless scenarios that truly test their abilities.

Most tributes gravitate towards the simulations for their Private Sessions, especially the Careers. Of course, the old-fashioned dummies and target practice remain, specifically for the tributes yet to harness a weapon, still needing to learn the basics.

The sound that emanates from the training floor is rather muffled, coming from behind a thick layer of reflective glass. The tributes tend to act different when they know they're being watched directly, which is one of the reasons this particular view is concealed from sight. The main observational area rests much further away with a clearer view of the floor. That is of course the place I watch the Private Sessions from, very much in the clear view of the tributes.

However for now, I'm greeted by a translucent reflection from the thick glass window. I stare at myself, seated quite comfortably beside a roaring fire. The plush chair leans back with my body sunken into the unbelievably soft material. The room fits the style of an old fashioned, wooden study, dimly lit only by that of the fire. An array of whiskey bottles lines the shelf beside the fire, Irish and scotch alike. They rest against a wall of cobble, stacked in a way to replicate a chamber. To my right, and resting in the center of the room, a simplistic mahogany table, also housing a bottle of my finest whiskey. To the other side, rests the empty chair that awaits my most important guest, who appears to be running a little late.

I raise my left arm, glancing at the watch that gilds my wrist. 12:06. . . I suppose she still isn't quite used to the many obligations her position requires. I snicker to myself, glancing up at my reflection to see a rather snide smirk forming on my lips.

_How could she be used to it? She's only seventeen, what are they thinking giving her the position of President?_

If only I could understand why the Council of Panem has made such a foolish decision, but alas, the deed has been done. Caroline Snow, I'm now at her every beck and call. Perhaps it's a blessing, I can't imagine working under her would be any more difficult than working for Coriolanus. One step out of line with that man, and I could kiss my life goodbye. Caroline is a child, one that should surely be manipulated. Perhaps even I, could worm my way into her head, I mean it's there to be done. There's no way nobody would take advantage of her innocent mind, hell, I'm sure the Council have already begun to place the seeds, just waiting for them to sprout.

I turn my gaze once more to my reflection, admiring my picturesque features. My snowy white skin contrasts heavily against my golden, amber iris', outlined with precise mascara to truly accentuate my eyes. A clean cut of raven black stubble along my sharpened jaw, matching the silky black hair that I allow to flow in waves down to my shoulders.

I picture myself seated comfortably in front of the Capitol audience, as my coronation into the Presidency plays out for millions to see. Of course, that could never happen. Not as long as Caroline lives, there cannot be a President Alabaster Welltree.

"Speak of the devil," I whisper under my breath, hearing the doors slide open. I glance to my right, locking eyes with Caroline Snow for the very first time. Her Great Grandfather was once a very handsome man, able to charm his way right up to the role of President, and it would seem that Caroline has followed suit in her genetics. Quite an entrancing sight is what you would think when first laying eyes on Caroline Snow, her fair skin absent of any blemishes, rosy cheeks accentuated by a delicate application of blush. Her long, platinum blonde hair falls in waves down to her lower back, scarily complimenting her stone cold, silver eyes. Her peachy lips lack the smile they once had in her younger years, the only times I ever saw her being on the screen.

No, in the flesh, Caroline is a whole different person to what I had known her to be. She stands with an element of class and grace, her general stature regal and all no-nonsense. This isn't the child I had expected, not at all, in fact she doesn't even resemble a child. She's a young woman that is enough to reek of authority, she's most certainly a Snow.

Suddenly cast with an aura of uncertainty, I raise myself to my feet, placing my almost empty glass back on the mahogany table. I mustn't allow myself to be thrown off by how she presents herself. Anyone could make themselves look like what they want, it doesn't mean they can act the same as well. However, as I make my way over to Caroline, I cannot help but feel a sliver of doubt. Sure she looks the part, beautiful and intimidating, but the way she stares at me, it's as if she has no disclosed feelings of angst and stress. If anything, she seems incredibly well kept together. Her outfit alone, a body tight midnight green dress, embellished by a soft fur coat draped over her shoulders and back, is enough to scream elegance.

_Let's just see how she can handle a conversation, especially with me._

My name is rather infamous around Panem, I've been responsible for the last twelve Hunger Games, all of which have been smashing successes. I've worked hard to develop my reputation, and I'll be damned if I fall short to a seventeen year-old girl, regardless of whether she has the Snow name or not.

"Miss Snow, it's an honor to meet you," I remark, sticking out my hand.

"Thank you Mr Welltree, but please, call me Caroline," she replies, allowing me to take her hand in my own.

"And I, Alabaster," I insist. I attempt to raise her hand to my lips, before she swiftly removes it from my grasp, a wince apparent on her face.

"That won't be necessary Alabaster, although I do appreciate the gesture," she comments, before stalking past me. Already I can tell, she isn't so big on traditional phrases and notions of respect. Perhaps it makes her feel uncomfortable, being greeted by a hand kiss. To think it's one coming from me as well, has she got momentous standards? I can chalk up the insistence on calling her by her first name as an attempt to be more personal, but that's reading into it way too early.

"Please, Caroline, take a seat," I grin with enthusiasm, turning around to watch her. "Is there any particular setting you would like to occupy?"

Caroline glances back at me with an eyebrow raised, clearly puzzled by my words.

"What do you mean?" She questions. I take the small device that fills my pocket, scrolling on the screen through the various settings.

"Perhaps you would like to be by the beaches of District 4?" I suggest, tapping the screen of the device with my thumb. Immediately, the walls around us change to show a completely different place, immersing us with a picturesque view of the crashing waves and sandy beach. The heat source that had once come from the illusion of the fireplace now comes from every angle, with the harsh sunlight beating down on us. I press another option, before a palm tree materializes and blocks some of the overwhelming brightness of the sun.

"Hmm, a little too distracting for me," Caroline critiques; staring at the sun bed that had restructured from the plush seats I had set up prior. I press another setting that is found fairly close to the beach option.

"How about the quaint forests of District 7?" I inquire, before the landscape shifts to that of a chilly pine forest. Sunlight breaches through the cracks in the trees, lighting the room up as if the time of day is just after dawn. However, Caroline is already shaking her head.

"Maybe, you're a fan of the gem studded caverns of District 1? That seems a little more fitting for such a classy individual such as yourself!" I beam, changing the landscape once more. The walls become rocky, with misty caves full of sparkling colors shining in the distance. I search Caroline's face for any emotions, perhaps a little astonishment. What I do see is a slight crack of a smile on her face, suggesting I have humored her in the very least.

"I appreciated the first setting you had when I arrived, it was a little more cozy," she speaks up, hand on her hip.

"Ah, great choice, my personal favorite," I praise her, before arranging the room back to its original appearance. As Caroline sits down, I also take a seat back in my chair, avidly pouring myself another glass of whiskey.

"Would you care for a drink?"

Caroline leans back, crossing one leg over the other as she lays her arms on the armrests.

"No thank you, I don't drink, and I imagine I won't be here for long," she replies, watching the workers set up the training floor.

"Oh sweetie, give it a matter of time," I chuckle, taking a sip. A flash of anger becomes apparent in Caroline's eyes, a scowl creeping up on her face.

"Don't patronize me, Alabaster," she speaks up sternly, fingers tapping the wooden armrest. Oh, she does have a little spine to her it would seem. I close my eyes for a moment, smiling and regaining my thoughts, before turning back to her.

"My apologies, I suppose I thought us to be on more light hearted terms," I apologize. Caroline glares back at me, clearly not amused.

"You thought wrong, I'm here on business purposes, not to be disrespected," she scolds bluntly.

"I see, I was under the impression that you were here to become acquainted, was I incorrect?" I question. Caroline snorts, tilting her head at me.

"Not entirely. Part of what I have needed to do over the past month is become acquainted with a range of people, many in this league of work. I even had to meet that god-awful Romulus Lindell," Caroline shares, the bitterness when she says that name incredibly blatant.

"I could not agree more," I smirk, before allowing more of the scalding brown liquor to enter my mouth.

"However, Alabaster, I'm not here to build friendships. Terms of endearment won't get you very far, so I do urge you to refrain from using any, and stick to my name," she utters, her tone soft but deadly. I have greatly misjudged her, already she has walked all over me, there is almost nothing I can do.

"Very well, I will respect your wishes," I give in, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Caroline nods her head, before glancing away back towards the training floor.

"There is something I wanted to address with you Alabaster, something I consider to be of great importance," she breathes, adjusting her position to be more comfortable. I raise an eyebrow, not quite sure of what she could be referring to.

"Oh, is that so? What may that be Caroline?" I inquire, a genuine sliver of curiosity stirring in my chest.

"I'm going to ask that you don't play favorites."

I feel as if I've been slapped in the face, completely thrown off by her words. _What on earth? Is she serious?_

"Miss Snow," I cough, trying to regain my composure, "I'm not quite sure what you're implying."

"Don't play dumb with me, it's painfully obvious that you tend to play favorites with the tributes. When I was younger, my Great Grandfather forced you to help out _my _favorites, I've seen it all," she says darkly, a fiery passion having ignited in her voice. I'm absolutely speechless; I struggle to think of what I can say. I'm meant to be the one feared by others, I'm meant to be the one who gives the orders, who does this little bitch think she is?

"I understand what you're saying, but don't you think it's best if our audience received the best possible Victor?" I challenge her. Caroline bites her lip impatiently, shaking her head to deny my words.

"No, you're thinking that they deserve the best Victor deemed by _you. _This is a competition involving human lives Alabaster, and there's no way of stopping it. In the very least, we can give all twenty four an even chance of making it out of your stupid arena," she frowns. My eyes almost bulge out of their sockets at her words.

_Stupid? She called my all my arenas, my life's work. . . stupid?_

Does she really have the audacity to insult my work? My art? I'm at a complete loss for words, she clearly doesn't think very highly of me, and now she's making these outrageous demands.

I feel a lump in my throat, causing me to swallow as I attempt to contain my unbridled rage. Caroline seems to have been distracted by an Avox, who has arrived to bring her a note, which she reads silently, mouthing each word.

"It would seem I have other matters to attend to Mr Welltree, I'm sure I'll be seeing you very soon," she informs me, folding the note and placing it in her coat pocket, before standing up out of her chair. "I do apologize that this was short, but we covered what I needed to. It was nice to meet you Alabaster."

"Of course, Madam President, it was an honor meeting you," I say, voice barely above a whisper. I take her hand, this time simply giving it a light shake, before she nods her head and leads herself out of the room. I've never felt so humiliated in my life, and by the hands of a seventeen year-old girl. I feel the rage bubbling inside of me, as I chug down the last bit of whiskey from my glass. I go to pour myself another glass, before realizing that the bottle is now bone dry.

With all my might, accompanied by an unrelenting roar, I hurl the bottle at the wall, causing an explosion of shattered glass. I breathe heavily as I stare at the mess, grinding my pearly teeth and trying to resist the urge to trash more of the room.

If Caroline Snow is so unimpressed by my work, and me as a person, I'll just have show her wrong. She'll see. . . she'll understand, what I'm truly capable of.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This brings us to the end of the third Prologue, with only one more to go before I can hopefully start revealing tributes! Anyways, what did you think of this chapter? This time we were introduced to another new character, however, this character is a POV character! I wanted to introduce Head Gamemaker Alabaster Welltree now, as I will be using him in the future for certain POV's, such as the Private Sessions. I also wanted to be able to depict Caroline from the POV of someone else, to show what other characters thought of her, how she acted from another viewpoint, and to properly describe what she looks like. It also would appear that Caroline and Alabaster won't get on particularly well. At the moment, this conflict is mainly coming down to a clash of personalities, but we will see how it plays out. Anyways, be sure to give your thoughts on Alabaster, as well as how Caroline is progressing and shifting into her role!**

**Now, here is the part where I say I still need plenty of submissions! I've gotten around five submissions so far and I'm incredibly grateful for those who have submitted, but I'm still a while off of getting a full tribute list. Please, I do encourage those who read this to consider submitting a tribute or two. I know many may be skeptic due to how new my account is, but I beg for you to give this story a chance. I would love to prove to you what I'm capable of, and for that I need submissions. If I finish my prologues and still don't have many submissions, I'm not sure what I'm going to be able to do, but I suppose I'll just have to work it out.**

**The fourth and final Prologue should be out soon, likely in a week so that there's enough time for some more submissions to come through. I'm really excited for that one because it's probably one of my favorite chapters so far, with a lot of new characters that we will be seeing plenty of in the future! So, until next time!**

**-Winter**


	4. Prologue IV: Champions

**Prologue IV**

_Champions_

* * *

**Caroline Snow**

**~17~**

**President of Panem**

* * *

This is it, the final big meeting I have to attend before I can relax and watch the Hunger Games unfold. The process has been excruciating, the territory all very unfamiliar, and almost all of it I had to navigate quite independently. Lillie has helped me copiously of course, but even she couldn't be with me 24/7. Much of what I have had to go through during the past week, I had to rely on myself to get through it.

Fortunately, this particular meeting is not one I dread anywhere near as much as some of the other things I've had to do. Speaking with Romulus Lindell alone was in itself, agonizing to say the least. Yet. . . the worst of it had to be Alabaster Welltree, our very own Head Gamemaker. There was something about him, which really rubbed me the wrong way. I don't know if it had to do with his painfully apparent ego, or perhaps the way he thought he could talk to me.

Those things, I expected from Romulus, someone almost the same age as myself, and incredibly ignorant. I suppose I held Alabaster in higher regard prior to that meeting, in the flesh he was nothing short of calculating. The way his eyes scanned over me, trying to read my every move, looking for an opening where he could put himself on a pedestal over me.

Some would think I overreacted to him calling me 'sweetie', and to those people I call them fools. It was all a mind game for Alabaster, he was testing the waters to see what he could get away with, to see who I was.

With those type of people, the authority has to be stamped down upfront. The moment they see a slight weakness in you, is when they begin to break down your barriers, until they seem untouchable to you. If that meeting was anything to go by, Alabaster should now know that I'm not someone to fuck with. I may not be as cruel as President Snow was, but I'm no pushover, and I'll bite back when provoked.

Today however, should go a lot more smoothly. Despite the fact that I'll have to see Romulus again, this time I won't be alone in suffering his snarky bullshit. I am sure that most of the people joining me here today, would already have met Romulus a few times, specifically on the Victory Tour. I pray that they do know how to handle him, unless he has learnt from our last meeting and will keep his mouth shut.

The room in front of me is silent, as I wait for each person to arrive. For once, I'm a little early, but perhaps that's because I'm a little excited. Today I become acquainted with a few of the recent Victors, twelve of them to be exact excluding Romulus as we have already met. Some of these people I have admired growing up, their valiant efforts in the arena going noticed by me. I have never really had the opportunity to actually meet any of the past Victors, so this will be a whole interesting experience for me.

Despite my lack of fanaticism for the Hunger Games, these Victors are still celebrities, icons, and as a teenage girl, it's still surreal to be able to meet them. . . yet alone rule over them. Regardless, I'm not here to push my authority over any of them, unless I need to. I breathe deeply, crossing my leg over the other as I rest comfortably in my chair, at the head of the table. Thirteen seats surround the other end, each station set up for each individual District. The only District to have two chairs is of course District 2, as Cato is here to simply teach Romulus how to mentor.

I'm not entirely aware on everyone that is mentoring this year; it doesn't switch up heavily as usually the Hunger Game Committee, led by Alabaster, selects the mentors based on when they previously won their last Hunger Games. Usually, most Victors are no longer required to mentor once twenty five years have passed since they won, and with Districts that possess multiple Victors within that twenty five year bracket, the most recent Victor is often called to serve due to their relevance.

The days of multiple mentors have long since passed, with nowadays only one Victor from each District being called in to mentor. The reasons that were shared with me was because it wasn't too fair for Districts with only one eligible Victor, although it never made too much sense to me as it just makes it more difficult for the other Districts. Of course, I never considered the underlining message of purposely making it harder for the Victors, making their post-game lives more difficult and hellish than it should be, so that they don't get too comfortable.

My thoughts are interrupted by the blinking of a green light right above the doorway. What that should represent, is that each Mentor has arrived, causing my heart to flutter. I need to retain my composure, I cannot afford to fan girl and lose the respect of these people within minutes. Especially after what I've shown myself to be to Romulus. He most certainly wouldn't take me seriously if I were to lose my shit over some Victors. I press a button on the tablet situated in front of me, causing the sliding doors to swiftly open.

One by one, each Victor files in, aimed with a direct path to their seats. I watch their faces as they enter the room, some eyeing me up curiously, other too nervous to meet my gaze. With each new person, my heart beats another round per second, as I feel the sweat begin to flood my palms. Each Victor reaches their seat, silently placing themselves in their assigned spots. I scan over all their faces, not saying a word as I take in whom I have in front of me. Where do I even begin?

From District 1, the azure blue eyes of Lavish Beaumont observe me, her gorgeous white locks styled in a waterfall braid. Her peachy red lips smile contently at me, complimenting her flawless, sun-kissed skin. I still remember seeing said skin coated in splashes of blood, her white blonde hair stained with crimson both fresh and darkened.

Lavish won the 95th Hunger Games, and she did it oh so impressively. As beautiful as she is, she wasn't a District 1 damsel in the slightest. Lavish was cunning, and won through deceit. Despite the attention she was gifted after her Reaping, she made sure to be as forgetful, dumb, and insignificant as possible. Capitolites were quick to forget about her when she lacked both the interest for their love, and the personality they had hoped for. Before too long, they were instantly drawn to some bimbo from District 10. The Careers kicked her out of the pack when she failed to show them any skill, butchered her Private Session score, and when she supposedly rejected the sexually charged advances of the leader from District 2.

After she was forgotten, she used the lack of a target on her back to her advantage, hunting down the big threats that didn't take her seriously and besting them by surprise. Now of course since everyone has seen what she's really like, she is immensely popular with the Capitol crowd, even the Districts, as she had killed many of her fellow Careers in the 95th.

My gaze moves onto District 2, locking eyes with Cato Ludwig, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games, possibly one of the most notorious of all time. Cato had a vendetta against District 12's tributes for whatever reason, leading him to act rather abrasive in his pursuit to kill them. However, once the rules were changed to allow him and Clove - his District partner - to both win, he began to soften and the pair had already begun to fall in love.

When Thresh from District 11 killed Clove, Cato was hollow inside. He no longer had the desire to kill the pair from Twelve out of jealousy. All he wanted was to make it home for Clove. On the Cornucopia roof during the standoff between Cato and District 12, Cato had Peeta head-locked whilst Katniss tried to figure out a method of escape. She waited too long however, and with a single crack, Peeta had his neck snapped. Katniss fired arrow after arrow, but Cato used Peeta's body as a meat shield. Before Katniss could do anything, Cato had thrown the corpse of Peeta straight into her, knocking her off of the Cornucopia roof and into the pack of dog mutts, who savaged her immediately.

I'm sure Cato would have once taken great pleasure in ending the girl from District 12, but once Clove had perished, he was never the same. He ended the games with one of Clove's knives, throwing it with flawed precision, but good enough to hit Katniss in the side of the throat as she was torn apart by dogs. The years since, Cato has matured significantly, but I don't think he's ever gotten over failing to protect Clove.

Next my eyes flit over to Newton Tillford of District 3, Victor of the 92nd Hunger Games. His disheveled, ash black hair moves with every little direction his head turns, whilst his olive skinned face looks around the room, his gold flecked eyes refusing to look into my own. His slender frame leans over the table awkwardly, almost causing me to giggle. He was always like that back when he was a tribute, constantly wary, awkward, and unsure. I can only assume it was because of the bullying he received both in his home District during his child years, as well as from other tributes such as the Careers.

Newton had been written off by everyone, like most do for District 3. Behind his quiet nature and scrawny appearance, Newton had apparently held a plan to protect himself, which he has since revealed he developed a knowledge of, to protect himself at home. Newton marked his territory, a science lab in the factory styled arena, and trapped it so intensely that anyone that could come within a close distance would be killed through one of his ingenious traps. The Gamemakers attempted to drive him out, however even their mutts couldn't't attack him through his defenses. Newton used his time to devise ambush tactics, to kill approaching tributes without engaging directly.

From memory, Newton's popularity increased tenfold, and suddenly people started sponsoring him for materials, to see what other wacky traps or weapons he could develop. He managed to use some parts to upgrade an already powerful sponsor weapon, so that it was straight out of a sci-fi movie. When it came to the finale, Newton's weapon did it all for him.

Beside Newton, sits Amphitrite Lockwater from District 4, who conquered the 90th Hunger Games. She rests comfortably, staring at me without much of an expression from her sea green eyes. Her long, copper blonde hair sits behind her in a ponytail plait, almost matching her deeply tanned skin.

Amphitrite's Hunger Games was one of heavy manipulation, the Careers were incredibly self-destructive, and by the third day none but Amphitrite and the boy from District 1 - who happened to be the pack leader - remained. Having been the only one not to directly oppose the boy, he let her off on her own, likely thinking she might kill a couple of tributes for him before succumbing to her own demise.

That would be a mistake however, because what the District 1 boy didn't realize, was that Amphitrite had been the reason for the Careers destruction, whispering lies and turning each tribute against the other. Amphitrite used her manipulation abilities to worm her way into other alliances, promising protection before taking charge. Her silver tongued words managed to convince the other tributes to become her subordinates, before she sends a whole group of them to take out the District 1 boy and do her dirty work for her.

It wasn't long before Amphitrite betrayed the surviving tributes from the fight, killing them swiftly and painlessly. After that, all that remained were weak outer-District tributes, easy for Amphitrite to take out.

Next to Amphitrite, sits Ceres Powell, Victor of the 91st Hunger Games. She sits giddily in her seat, beaming at me with an unparalleled excitement. If only she knew how excited I am to be in her presence as well. Ceres has always been an exceptionally bubbly person, possibly one of the nicest Victors I've ever watched. She's always seemed like a genuine joy to be around, to think I'm here with her is mind-boggling. Her long, raven black hair sits loosely and straightened behind her shoulders, reaching down to her lower back. Her fair skin contrasts her electric blue eyes, while her cream colored cheeks compliment her pink lips nicely, which are pulled back to reveal her pearly white smile.

Ceres was an unparalleled genius during her games. Very analytical, and extremely careful with delivery, Ceres was able to trap all of the Careers, keeping them constricted together with a metal wire. This was after impressively causing them to go unconscious by spiking their water source with a sleep serum. Due to the terrible weather of storms and constant lightning strikes in the arena that year, she was able to set up a mechanism that would cause lightning to come down and strike a pole that the metal wire was attached to, effectively electrocuting all of the Careers in one go. She ultimately won because all of the major threats were removed early, and the tributes left were weak, lacked skill, and could by no means match Ceres' intellect.

I haven't seen tributes anywhere near as intelligent as either Ceres or Newton, it's no wonder that they're in a relationship. It is fitting though, there's no reason to deny that.

In the center seat, sits Bullet Stevens of District 6, the Victor of the 88th Hunger Games. Although his name is actually Bullrod, Bullet earned his nickname through his insane speed. His eyes appear glazed over, as if he isn't entirely sober as of right now. Who am I kidding, I know that for a fact to be true. Bullet's slender arms are covered by his white shirt, but I can see the blood stain where he injected the morphling on his right arm.

I stare at him for a moment, looking at his stony face, and his tousled chestnut hair. I tsk softly at what I see from him, feeling a little sympathetic. I've never had morphling, but I've heard it's a hell of an addictive drug. It's seems to mainly be prolific in District 6, likely because they have the most direct contact with the Capitol due to their transport being used all over Panem for travel, in turn giving them the best access to it.

He's quite a different tribute from what I remember seeing when I watched his Hunger Games. During his Hunger Games, Bullet was incredibly evasive, lightning quick in fact, and caused constant nuisances for the Careers who couldn't catch him no matter what. He had initially not stuck out too much in the Capitol as his training score was ordinary, due to the Gamemakers not taking speed seriously. Bullet eliminated the Careers one by one, being able to lure each tribute that chased him through a trap that would ultimately kill them. To win, he simply outran the remaining tributes that were trying to murder him, whilst they were trying to escape from an ever-approaching tsunami. They were too exhausted to defend themselves against Bullet, and thus the rest is history.

Sitting perhaps a little more relaxed and confidently than Bullet, is Rowan Woodstock of District 7, Victor of the 86th Hunger Games. His sandy blonde locks styled neatly atop his scalp, held together by some sort of product. His eyes sparkle at me like sapphires, a warm smile planted on his chiseled face. His stare is soft, inviting, simply alluring, I'm almost entranced in it for a moment.

Rowan was invigorating and charming, managing to quite effortlessly seduce his way into the Careers, of course accompanied by formidable axe skills to appease those that were wary of him. It became apparent during the games that the Career girls loved him, but the boys, they were not so easily impressed. Rowan had seemingly begun to care for the District 2 girl, and when she was killed due to the jealousy of the Career boys, he turned on them, causing them to attack him. A three versus three fight resulted in the deaths of all the Careers, except for Rowan and the District 2 boy. Both retreated to recover, before a climactic finale resulted in Rowan finishing the boys life. Nowadays he's a rather popular Victor, often compared to Finnick Odair.

Situated beside Rowan, sits District 8's very own Asita Clearway, Victor of the 96th Hunger Games. Funnily enough, her strategy for winning was very similar to Rowan's, she's absolutely gorgeous and she used it to her advantage. Asita has piercing grey eyes, a tone that switches between blue and silver depending on what she is wearing. Her skin is fair and flawless, accompanied by rosy cheeks and ruby red lips. Her coal black hair shimmers in waves, held together in a relaxed fishtail style.

Asita used her alluring beauty far more than Rowan did, using it to deceive and seduce the Careers extremely well. Almost all of them were focused on trying to impress her, even some of the girls, as she was the most ravishing tribute the Games had seen for a long time. With doing very little physical work, Asita was able to turn the Careers on one another simply out of jealousy, taking no collateral damage. When she finished off the remaining Career, for fears that he would realize he had been deceived, Asita tried to keep away from other tributes out of guilt, I once heard her say. Any tribute she ran into would be too awestruck to kill her, running away and leaving her alone. Eventually it was just her and her own District partner who remained, who - and I still cannot believe this to this day - sacrificed himself for her as he couldn't bring himself to kill her either.

Seeing Asita in person, even I can see why everyone fell for her. She was naturally gifted with her appearance, and I can't say I blame her for abusing that privilege.

A very different kind of tribute, sits beside Asita in the form of Terra Everbloom from District 9, Victor of the 93rd Hunger Games. Terra is a fierce young woman, with confident hazel eyes that stick out against caramel colored skin, skin of which suggests Spanish heritage. Her long, chocolate brown hair is wrapped up in a curled plait, with a few loose strands tucked behind her ears. Her beautiful, exotic features are all held within her curvy physique, which leans forward attentively as she examines me.

Terra was a unique kind of outer District tribute. To combat a seemingly invincible pack of Careers that year, Terra rallied up a Counter-Career pack, made up of the most skilled non Career tributes that she could find, I remember her detailing in her post-game interview. Both the Careers and Terra's group dominated the arena that year, to the point where the final eight was made up of only Careers and alliance members. In a gruesome, bloody fight that some say has to be one of the best in Hunger Games history - which I would have to agree with personally - Terra came out on top, barely clinging to life as she put down the girl from District 4.

It's hard to miss the next Victor, straight from the 94th Hunger Games is Paddock Richards of District 10. Paddock towers over most of us here, even the biggest tributes such as Cato and Romulus. His stature is large, his squared jaw shut and his expression stony. His face is clean-shaven, whilst his light brown hair is cut in a militaristic style. Through his grim composure, are soft brown eyes that glance over at me observationally. His expression shifts to more of a polite and inviting look, the ghost of a smile barely noticeable.

Paddock was a popular pick to win early on, despite his hesitation to actually kill anyone. However, after losing his alliance partner, I believe a younger girl from District 5, Paddock lost all sense of morality momentarily. In a fit of rage Paddock could no longer contain, he fought head on with every tribute he could find, causing an alarming amount of deaths. After eradicating the Careers, and killing the tribute responsible for killing his alliance partner, Paddock was traumatized from what he inflicted. Apparently he now preaches anger management and attempts to remain calm at all times. Part of me sympathizes for him, it can't be nice realizing the carnage you've inflicted upon people, especially some that had nothing to do with the situation.

Moving on from Paddock, I glance over at the District 11 Mentor, Rosemary Peaceroot, Victor of the 84th Hunger Games. Despite being one of the older Victors out of the thirteen of them, she is still one of the shorter ones. Her round face houses mysterious black eyes, her mocha skin concealing a great deal of her expression. A smile is absent from her face, although I never remember her smiling too much to begin with, more often looking fearful. Although the fear has long since vanished from her face, the timidity and shyness always remained. She looks very pretty though, with her usually frizzy, coal black hair, straightened and styled into a bun plait.

Rosemary was a surprise to all when she became Victor. Due to being so small and unsuspecting, Rosemary was exceptionally good at getting around unnoticed. She was elusive and was never in the forefront of people's minds. When she killed, nobody knew it was her, she would kill from a distance, using a blow dart, with the darts being laced with poisonous plants and berries that she knew of from District 11. Upon the final fight, she simply eluded and shot the other tributes with darts every time they came close. Eventually, the poison wore down the last tribute, who Rosemary killed with a throwing knife to the chest, laced with Nightlock juices.

Last of all, directly next to Rosemary, is Dusk Silverbrand of District 12, Victor of the 80th Hunger Games. It's been a while since District 12 last won, and seeing as they only have two living Victors, one of which is the aged Haymitch Abernathy, Dusk has been in the Mentor seat for nineteen years in a row now. He looks worn, his black hair disheveled and unkempt, purple bags under his lifeless grey eyes, standing out heavily against the pale skin that rarely sees the sun. His body is tall and lanky, slouched over with little energy left. In all honesty, Dusk looks as if he's lost the will to live, which is exactly the way he was in the arena.

Dusk became District 12's third ever Victor, on one single premises. Luck. Panem has never seen a luckier tribute than Dusk Silverbrand. During the Bloodbath, Dusk walked straight to the Cornucopia, straight through the carnage and massacres, seemingly expecting death to come his way. Tributes fought and killed all around him, yet they all seemed to ignore him like he was a ghost. He was able to walk right in and gather supplies and a weapon, before abandoning the Bloodbath with enough to last him for a couple weeks. Dusk didn't' run into a single tribute until the Feast, where once again, the other tributes were too focused on one another, ignoring Dusk for a second time.

It wasn't until the final two, where the last Career was confused on who still remained, not even sure who the last tribute was. Upon being forced together for the final fight, the Career scoffed when he realized who he was fighting, amused by the lack of a challenge. The Career didn't even defend himself when he saw Dusk throw something from afar, not thinking him to be capable of anything major. It was only at the last second that he realized he had made a mistake, right as the tomahawk landed between his eyes.

Dusk seemed reckless during his time in the arena, fearless of death in fact. I do have to wonder if he was in fact welcoming it with open arms. The years since have certainly not helped Dusk, having to watch his tributes die early every single year; I can't imagine how that would feel. I don't think a tribute from District 12 has made the top twelve since the 80th Hunger Games.

After a few moments have gone by, every Mentor has their eyes on me, some a little more interested than others who barely look at me, such as Dusk and Bullet. I smile at all of them, trying to keep my eyes off of Romulus, as I feel quite impressed by their professionalism. That is of course, until Romulus opens his mouth.

"Well? You gonna start?" I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to snap the neck of Romulus here and now.

"Man, you need to learn when to shut your mouth," Rowan mutters softly as he shakes his head, causing Romulus to glare over at him.

"Do you want me to come over there and beat your head in Seven?" Romulus spits.

"We aren't in the arena anymore Romulus, you refer to your peers by their names," Cato scolds him, burying his face into his hands with a groan.

"Riveting lesson from you Ludwig," Romulus sneers.

"What's your problem man? Just shut up!" Amphitrite speaks up, scowling at Romulus.

"Don't talk to me you traitorous little whore, you have some nerve-"

"_AHEM,_" I cough, not so subtly. Within milliseconds, I've attracted the attention of all thirteen mentors, some of their eyes widening when they spot the venomous stare I aim at Romulus.

"Mr Lindell, you will _only_ talk when you are _directly_ spoken to. Remember what we discussed last week? That can be arranged within a matter of seconds, is that clear?" I almost bellow, causing Newton and Rosemary to cower back. Romulus slams his fist against the table, gritting his teeth and appearing to be trying to hold in an outburst.

". . . Yes Madam President," he grunts. I disregard my attention to him, looking over the rest of the Mentors with a smile on my face.

"Now, welcome back to the Capitol everyone, it's a pleasure to meet all of you," I say happily, a hint of quavering excitement evident in my tone, quite the switch up from the commanding voice that I spoke to Romulus with.

"I'm very aware of who you all are, and as you have all been selected to mentor this years batch of tributes, it's appropriate that we do officially meet one another before the pre-game process begins!" I explain. The Victors look at one another, a couple murmuring to each other with curious looks on their faces.

"As you should have seen, my name is Caroline Snow, and I have been tasked with taking the position of President in the wake of my Great Grandfathers death." A few of the Victors go pale at the mention of President Snow, whilst others simply raise an eyebrow in acknowledgement. It would seem that President Snow was feared even amongst this group of hardened killers. Can I honestly say I'm shocked?

"Now, I want to get across that I'm nothing like Coriolanus Snow. I understand how sadistic, cruel, and heartless he was. Unlike him, I will make an effort to talk to you all, to engage with your thoughts, I want you to know that I am approachable and ready to discuss anything should you need it," I smile gently. This captures each of their attention, minus Romulus who continues to sulk.

"I'm not the bad guy you might think I am, just because I'm related to Coriolanus Snow, it does not insinuate that all I want to do is torture your tributes," I finish, leaning back for them to take all of that in. Moments later, Ceres speaks up.

"We're honored to meet you Miss Snow, we appreciate what you've said," Ceres beams at me, electrifying blue eyes lighting up with glee. I smile back at her, feeling rather elated.

"Thank you Miss Powell, I look forward to working with you all," I chirp, refraining from mentioning the 'except Romulus' that is on the tip of my tongue.

Everything is beginning to come together, so it would seem.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Wow. You guys, I have to thank you for the support I've received recently! After Prologue III dropped, I've gone from only a few submissions to almost a full Tribute Roster! Not to mention that I've actually been receiving feedback on the story, it's honestly such a great feeling and one I have missed over the years! I'm very humbled by the extra attention I've received since that third chapter, I'm not really sure what changed but I'm certainly glad it did!**

**With the extra attention Reign has received, I'll be able to fast track the story a lot sooner than I thought I would be able to after the first two chapters. Once I've finalized the tribute roster, I'll be able to reveal it as of next chapter, before starting with the first Reaping chapter! You may have noticed, I've begun to close certain tribute slots based on availability, as well as the fact that I've started to form what will be the final group of tributes. So if you are still keen on submitting a tribute, please look on my profile for the current available submission roster, and submit to a slot that hasn't been closed.**

**Now that I've spoken about that, please do tell me, what did you think about this chapter? This time around we got to meet all of the mentors that will feature in the story, and that will have the odd POV during the Hunger Games from the sponsor room. Be sure to let me know what you thought of the various Victors we have, if any stuck out to you or if you're curious to see any more of a specific one. Something I'll mention now is that the reason I chose to make it so that each District has only one mentor, is so that I'm not overwhelmed by all of the characters that I have to keep track of. This doesn't mean other Victors can't join and help out if they want, but these are the mandatory Mentors that are selected to go. I hope that makes sense!**

**Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you for the next chapter, the Tribute Roster!**

**-Winter**


	5. Tribute Roster

**Tribute Roster**

* * *

**Caroline Snow**

**~17~**

**President of Panem**

* * *

It's been years since I've been in this room. It was never that appealing to me, especially being so young when I was here last. As most children do, I preferred bright colors, obnoxious patterns, posters and memorabilia of famous celebrities, or successful Victors. I remember my bedroom from several years ago, looking like it was straight out of a princess' castle.

Whenever I had to come to here, this sleek and luxurious room, I found it so boring. It didn't feel homey at all, in fact it felt hostile, and cold. I never took into account the exclusivity of it, the whole notion that nobody was allowed in here unless given permission, or directly invited to, by President Snow. All except for me, I was welcome whenever I wanted.

I often chose not to, especially as my uncertainty of the Hunger Games began to arise. I felt guilty coming in here, having to watch the Hunger Games alongside Coriolanus Snow. However, sometimes the only way to not feel lonely was to join him inside here, inside of the Presidential Office.

Sometimes, I do question how different my childhood would have been, if I hadn't been so lonely. What if the rest of my family was around? What if I had siblings to grow up with? I sometimes suspect that perhaps if I had been allowed to interact with other children, I would be happier than I am now. The things is in reality, I've never felt more alone than in my current situation.

My Grandparents both died well before I was born, from my understanding it was due to an outbreak of a disease a few decades ago. That tragedy left Coriolanus childless, with the exception of his Grandchild; my mother, Celestia Snow. I never knew what happened to my mother, Coriolanus refused to tell me, and anyone caught attempting to discuss it with me would have their tongue cut out. The only thing I've ever been able to discover, is that she fled to one of the Districts, although I'm not too sure as to which one, nor why she did.

What I do know is that she wasn't able to take me with her. Did she abandon me? Did she suspect that I was better suited to staying here in the Capitol? Regardless, she left me lonely, in the tight grasp of my Great Grandfather.

I suppose it doesn't matter too much now, all of my family are dead, including President Snow. My mother may as well be, seeing as she wasn't there for me. I never had an emotional attachment to her, because I can't even remember her. I was still an infant when she fled, and to this day I still haven't seen a photo of her. As far as I'm aware, President Snow had every bit of media about her destroyed, there's nothing left for me to see.

My attention is brought to a light knocking on the door, causing me to smile as I'm completely aware of who it is. There's only one person I'm expecting, as I invited them to join me for the Reaping Review.

"Come in," I call out, followed by the opening of my office door. Lillie enters in awe, examining every inch of the room with her mouth agape in fascination. She spins around slowly, appearing purely entranced by the room. I can't really blame her; this room is historic, only those with prestigious positions have really ever come in here. It would be on par with being allowed access to the mythical Area 51 of Old America, a place long lost to disaster.

I don't see that lasting long however, the more personal I become with the Mentors, and other Victors, the more access they'll have to places like this. Hopefully . . . the Districts can be more involved with the Capitol. Do I dare to dream?

"Wow, I-I've never been in this room before," Lillie whispers in astonishment. I smirk at her, watching as she looks around like a kid in a candy store.

"It's nothing special, I don't intend for it to be as exclusive and personal as President Snow did," I reply, picking up the remote and switching on the screen.

"I'm sorry Caroline, it's just so surreal to me. I'm still relatively new to the job, and here I am watching the Reaping Review with the President of Panem!" She exclaims, clearly as giddy as can be. I laugh at her words, shaking my head humbly.

"Don't think of it like that, think of it as watching the Reaping Review . . . with a friend."

Lillie pauses, glancing at me with eyes of shock. She takes a seat next to me, her hands frantically fiddling with the other.

"Y-you consider me a friend?" Lillie questions softly, appearing to take my words by surprise. I giggle at her response, thinking it rather foolish.

"Well of course! I haven't had many friends before, but I think this is what it's like to have one . . . right?" I reply, raising an eyebrow in questioning. Over the last month of guidance and getting to know each other, I've felt as if Lillie has been someone I can truly confide in, someone that I actually enjoy spending time with, and someone that actually seems to understand me. It may be a relatively small amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but I would think that as a result of growing closer, that we could consider ourselves to be friends.

It would seem Lillie agrees, as she nods her head to confirm my words.

"Yeah, I guess you could say we are. I'm honored to have you consider me a friend," Lillie smiles at me, looking a little elated. My chest flutters with excitement, knowing that Lillie doesn't see me as someone to sympathize with, or as someone to fear like my Great Grandfather. She genuinely thinks of me as a friend too, and for once, we aren't being forced together through work. The two of us are here simply for recreational time, to enjoy each other's company. I resist the urge to let a tear escape my eye, not wanting to directly show her how much it means to me. Something tells me that would come across as being rather weird, but who knows? Perhaps Lillie would understand, she seems to do so for everything else.

"Oh. . ." Lillie murmurs, causing me to look at her in alarm.

"What?" I almost cry out, rather panic stricken by her word. Did she in fact notice my eyes begin to water? When I turn to face her however, she diverts my attention away by pointing at the TV screen.

"They're showing the list of tributes that were Reaped," she informs me. Sure enough the name of all of the tributes for the 99th Hunger Games has flashed onto the screen, an image of each District pair on the stage, displayed next to their names. A brief scan over the tributes piques my interest, as both Lillie and I completely pay attention to the screen.

* * *

**District 1 - Luxury**

_**Male: **_Adonis Lockheart - 17 - _(Lordwhy)_

_**Female:**_ Vienna Lathing - 18 - _(Paradigm of Writing)_

**District 2 - Masonry**

_**Male: **_Thanatos Elegia - 18 - _(Apple1230)_

_**Female: **_Andromache Poyner - 18 _(Andii99)_

**District 3 - Technology**

_**Male: **_Kirby Heyward - 12 - _(AlexFalTon)_

_**Female: **_Didgit Lancaster - 17 -_ (Wolvesareawesome13)_

**District 4 - Fishing**

_**Male: **_Ophiuchus "Ophi" Sandsea - 17 - _(Revenant12)_

_**Female: **_Cinder Halloway - 16 - _(Lordwhy)_

**District 5 - Power**

_**Male: **_Slane Ampersand - 14 - _(Revenant12)_

_**Female: **_Yelena Lantsov - 18 - _(Alice Kingsleighs)_

**District 6 - Transportation**

_**Male: **_Otto Van Mietch - 15 - _(Paradigm of Writing)_

_**Female: **_Lucille Fforde - 16 - _(Andii99)_

**District 7 - Lumber**

_**Male: **_Malik Durbe - 17 - _(Yugi-Smallymcsmall)_

_**Female: **_Amazon Abiodun - 18 - _(Apple1230)_

**District 8 - Textiles**

_**Male: **_Nokia Adamar - 18 - _(santiago. poncini20)_

_**Female: **_Lindsey Clarke - 18 - _(ElliiLouise)_

**District 9 - Grain**

_**Male: **_Burton Hansen - 14 - _(santiago. poncini20)_

_**Female: **_Amaryllis Kane - 13 - _(Audmirable)_

**District 10 - Livestock**

_**Male: **_Alex Turner - 16 - _(Marie464)_

_**Female: **_Nera Abbadelli - 17 -_ (Lexi486)_

**District 11 - Agriculture**

_**Male: **_Mot Whitaker - 14 - _(santiago. poncini20)_

_**Female: **_Loretta Kavanagh - 14 - _(Lexi486)_

**District 12 - Coal**

_**Male: **_Zander Hoxley - 16 - _(jimster920)_

_**Female: **_Elyanna Aspen - 18 - _(Lordwhy)_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Oh my god, I can't believe I actually managed to get a full tribute list! I'm not gonna lie, at the start it wasn't looking good, but ultimately we got there! I have to thank all of you for submitting, we've got a great set of tributes here and some of them are going to be very difficult for me to kill off! I'm really excited to begin developing them, and I hope you are excited to see them interact with one another!**

**I have to especially give a thanks to the people that submitted multiple tributes, I probably wouldn't have been able to fill up the roster without your submissions, and I know creating tribute submissions can be time consuming, so once again I have to show my gratitude! Now, addressing the Tribute List. Most tributes were placed where they were submitted to, however some I had to move around. For the most part, if your tribute didn't make it into their original District, they were almost all placed into their back up District. I believe the only tribute that I had to completely reposition into a District that wasn't the backup was Nera, but I'll adjust her character to fit with her new District.**

**In terms of the number of tributes that some people have, essentially when it comes to eliminating tributes from the story, I'm not going to be doing it based on how many tributes an author has. So say you have three tributes in the story, I'm not going to kill one off early just because you have that many, I'm going to kill tributes based on what I want the story to be like. If you have three stellar tributes, they could all very well make the top 12. This is why I put an emphasis on having detail in your forms, because that gives me a whole lot more to work with and gives your tribute a higher survival chance.**

**Anyways, I hope you guys liked that chapter, it was pretty short compared to my usual writing, but it's purpose was to show the Tribute List, Caroline's POV was simply an extra addition. It actually revealed a little more about Caroline's backstory as well, so I hope some of you find that interesting! Next chapter will be the first Reaping, there's going to be four Reaping chapters consisting of three Districts each, I was going to do four for each initially but when I finished District 1's Reaping it had clocked up 5,000 words alone . . . so I have to cut the Reapings up more. So, until next time!**

**-Winter**


	6. Reaping I: Jewels, Stone and Tech

**Reaping I**

_Jewels, Stone and Tech_

* * *

**Lavish Beaumont**

**~22~**

**District 1**

_**Victor of the 95th Hunger Games**_

* * *

This feeling is all too familiar now. Many would say it has only been a short amount of time, but to me, it's repetitive to the point that it feels like I've been doing this for a decade. The reality that it has been four years since I won the Hunger Games, it's mind-boggling to think about. For all I know, half of my life could have consisted of this same routine, year after year.

It's been the same every time, getting up on stage so that the District can celebrate us as Victors, before having two young teens either be Reaped - or the more likely option - volunteer, and inevitably watch them die. District 1 hasn't been victorious since I won the 95th Hunger Games, but in the grand scheme of things that really isn't that long ago; in fact it's pretty recent. Some Districts haven't won in close to a couple of decades, like both District 11 and 12. Poor Rosemary and Dusk are still forced to mentor because their Districts have no other options.

Coming from a Career District myself, at least it's a little easier for us than Outer-Districts. Who am I kidding? We're at a significant advantage being from Career Districts. I snort at the name 'Career', shaking my head with a smile. How the meaning has transformed over the years. The name Career begun as a way for the Outer-Districts to refer to us tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4, the very same tributes that would 'illegally' train for the Hunger Games, and ally together in a bloodthirsty pack.

It used to be considered derogatory by us from those Districts, because 'who were they to criticize us for training to survive?' I can totally see where they were coming from though, to them it looked like we took pleasure in what we did, that we were training simply to become good at killing them all. The thing was, many Career tributes were. The only thing on their minds was their kill count, not escaping the arena of death, not bringing glory to their District, but to satiate their bloodlust.

Romulus, last years Victor, was that exact type of tribute. It pained me when he eventually ran his sword through my remaining tribute, who had been so close to making it home.

Regardless, some time ago those tributes from District 1, 2 and 4, they begun to embrace the title of Career. Now we use it to define ourselves, and it's considered a great honor to be called a Career. Some tributes from other Districts attempt to make it into the Hunger Games just to get into the Careers and make a name for themselves, and sometimes it has worked.

I think back to my Hunger Games, reflecting on my own strategy for survival. Ultimately, being a Career wasn't what got me through the Hunger Games. In fact, I wasn't even in the Career Pack that year. The lot of them were self-centered, ignorant, and stupid, I knew I could outsmart them if I made myself to not be a target. My own District partner was an idiot, I have no regrets about leaving him with the rest of the Career Pack, although I do wonder what would have happened if had shown him what I was truly capable of. Would he have exposed me? Would he have dismissed me? I'm not too sure, but what I do know is that we weren't compatible enough to be allies, and it was in my best interest to separate from him.

Killing the other Careers I had no qualms with, and as horrible as it may be to say, I'm glad he was dead by the time I started hunting down the remaining Careers. Even if we weren't on allied terms, I'm not sure I would have been able to kill him myself.

It does beg the question however, how compatible will my tributes be this year? I don't attend the Career Academy anymore, and I have no say in selecting who gets to volunteer, if there are any solid options of course. From what I have learnt, every Career District is the same when it comes to volunteering. If there is someone that outright deserves to volunteer, then they will be selected. However, if the Academy - and by that I pretty much mean the Head Trainer - doesn't think anyone is inclined to be allowed to solely volunteer, than the spot is up for anyone to volunteer in.

I'm not overly sure if anyone has been granted sole ability to volunteer, but I suppose I will find out in a brief period of time. I glance over towards the crowd of parents and adults, watching from behind the rows of eligible kids. At the very forefront, is Terrance Oblivion, the Head Trainer at the Academy. I examine him from afar, observing his cleft jaw, his unblemished face, and his hulking mass of muscle that comes in a six feet form. I may be a hardened Victor, but even to this day, Terrance is one scary dude.

If anyone is volunteering from the Academy selections this year, Terrance would have been the one to choose them. I've never quite seen eye-to-eye with him, most years his selections have been poor and I've been left with less than satisfactory Careers to mentor. Sometimes, I question the validity of his choices, seeing as I, our most recent Victor, wasn't even a volunteer. I was Reaped, and out of some rare occurrence, nobody volunteered for my position.

Nonetheless, Terrance is still highly regarded, and is still responsible for the overall selection. I just hope he has chosen correctly this year. Otherwise, it spells another year of disaster for District 1.

"Now, lets all pay a round of applause to our valiant Victors, the individuals that fought for our glory, and made it back home in one piece!" The booming voice of our Mayor pierces my train of thought. Following these words, the crowd bursts into cheers and clapping, a few whistles blown as each Victor begins to make their way onto the stage.

_Made it back home in one piece? That's a bit morbid . . ._

What's the point of thinking that? It's not like my opinion would change the mind of my entire District. They all see the competitive side to the Games; they love the entertainment aspect of it. Addressing us, the ones that made it back to them, is as prideful as cheering on your favorite sports team.

As each one of us makes it onto the stage, the cheering gets even more deafening. I'm the last to make it up, but as soon as I do I can already see the cameras locating me. I see myself on the mega screen, the very same Lavish Beaumont that giggled her way up to the stage upon hearing her name called out from the Escorts lips four years ago. My expression had looked joyous, and oblivious . . . God I hated having to act like that.

The girl that I see on the stage now is a dramatic shift from the first time, my smile is complacent and my eyes sharp and analytical. It's amazing that I was able to act so ditzy back then, nowadays I can't seem to help but look like I'm scanning the area for enemies, all underneath the guise of my polite grin.

"Relax Lav, you've got nothing to worry about," I scold myself softly, causing a pair of eyes to turn and look at me.

"Huh? Did you say something Lavish?" Glint questions. Glint was my Mentor, and used to be the most recent Victor for District 1, until I claimed that title of course. Back during my Hunger Games, Glint had always been friendly to me, having spoke to me a lot more than my District partner did. Of course, it was his job to do so, but Glint still could have given up on me upon seeing how 'hopeless' I was. Despite this, he still attempted to help me out, and I've always held him in high regard for that. I sort of felt bad that I tricked him into thinking I was such an airhead, but at the time I couldn't risk him spilling that I wasn't one to my District partner.

I flick my platinum blonde hair over my shoulders, returning his gaze with a dismissive smile.

"I don't know what you're taking about," I reply innocently, causing him to roll his eyes.

"I can read you like a book now Lavish, I can tell when you're lying!" He smirks. I shake my head, before beaming at the cameras and waving at them.

"It was nothing important, I'm just hoping for the best from these tributes," I inform him out of the corner of my mouth. He chuckles as we both take a seat behind the Mayor and the Escort, a young, rather alluring woman named Trinkie Silvergaze.

"You and I both," he murmurs. I laugh at his response, repressing the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's not like you're the one having to mentor them," I fold my arms whilst raising an eyebrow.

"I still like to see our tributes make it home, you should have seen how crazy I went when _you_ won. I'm sure Rowan wanted to snap my neck at the time!" Glint exclaims with a laugh. I sigh, shaking my head with a smile.

"Yeah, poor Rowan," I respond. Poor Rowan indeed, if I had died to that District 7 boy, then that would have been Rowan's first Victor he brought home. Instead he's still stuck mentoring this year, and with Romulus in the Mentor Room . . . it's gonna suck for all of us. I've always wondered if Rowan hates me for killing his tribute, but he's so damn professional and nice, perhaps he got over it pretty quickly.

Glint goes silent for a moment, before he folds his arms with a cough.

"Lavish. . . you are aware that I can come up with you and help out, if it's becoming too much to handle, right?" He speaks up, a hint of concern lining his words. I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head and causing my blonde locks to bounce behind my back. Glint's always been the father figure type, ever since he mentored me. He has always felt the need to want to help me out, especially after I won. Perhaps because of all the tributes he's mentored, I'm the one that actually came back.

"I can handle it Glint, I don't want to drag you to the Capitol just because you feel obligated to help me," I reply gratuitously. He gives his head a nod, staring out over the sea of people.

"Are you sure you don't miss the mentor life?" I joke, glancing over at his grinning face.

"Nah, I wouldn't want to be like Cato, he literally volunteers to mentor every year, and now who did he get stuck with?"

I roll my eyes bitterly, not even daring to bring up the name of Romulus. Fortunately, it would seem that I don't need to, as Trinkie Silvergaze has begun to tap on the microphone. Why does she bother? She should know it's working, the Mayor just used it to introduce all of us.

I'm reminded of why she does it, as soon as I hear the piercing static that makes me wince. The crowd begins to die down, the excitement of the tribute selection bubbling up in anticipation. Always using the same method to grab the attention of the crowd, a classic Trinkie move. She raises her manicured hand to her glittering blue lips, coughing slightly to clear her throat. With her small coughs, comes a slight bob of her head, causing her diamond blue hair to sway from the movement, the curls rippling down her back. I notice as she turns her face slightly, that her skin is also sparkling like glitter, likely from some form of make-up.

"Good afternoon District 1, what an honor it is to be back here with you today!" Trinkie gushes in a sickly sweet voice. Her sapphire eyes shimmer as they glance out over the crowd, excitement appearing to be quite prevalent within them.

"As I'm sure you all have been, I myself have been waiting a long time for this, so let's get this show on the road!" She squeals, causing a roar of approval from the crowd. Trinkie always gets quite excited for the Reaping, usually she doesn't waste too much time as she herself is too impatient, wanting to see who will be getting to represent our District.

Unsurprisingly, Trinkie heads right towards the bowl full of female names, she has always been one to follow tradition. Upon reaching the bowl, it's as if someone turns off the audio to reality, everyone goes quiet as they wait and see how this plays out. I also find myself holding my breath, the same emotions flowing through me that I felt four years ago.

I bite my lower lip as Trinkie elegantly claims a slip of paper from the very top, causing a few gasps from the crowd. Usually Trinkie drives her hand deep inside the pool of potential tributes, but this year she has switched it up.

Thousands of eyes follow the little white slip of paper grasped between her fingers, accompanied by enough silence that a pin drop could be heard. Trinkie reaches her spot right in the center of the stage, before unfolding the slip of paper in trembling hands. Those same hands held the slip of paper with my name on it once, whoever has their name on this slip may have their life changed forever should nobody volunteer.

Trinkie pauses a moment so that she can read the name, likely so that she can read it out correctly. I hear my heart pumping as she parts her lips.

"Our female tribute for the 99th Hunger Games is. . . Lucretia Simmons!"

Lucretia Simmons, the name doesn't ring a bell. Although it's been a few years since I was last a student at the Academy, I still do hear about all of the latest prodigies and big name trainees, so if Lucretia was a big show at the Academy I should have at least heard of her. When I begin to see movement coming from the sixteen year-old section, I begin to understand why. Lucretia is still too young to be considered at the top of the trainee draft, even if she is any good there isn't too much focus on people her age just yet.

However, just as I'm about to see my first look of Lucretia, a confident voice pierces the air, stopping everyone in their tracks.

"I volunteer!"

I raise my eyebrow, a smirk ever so threatening to erupt on my face. There it is, the volunteer. In all honesty I wouldn't have been surprised if nobody volunteered, seeing as the Quarter Quell is next year, most eligible Careers would want to enter that. Yet, here we are with a volunteer. The question is. . . who is it?

A path is made for the girl, the movement all coming from the eighteen year-old section. Thank God for that, at least it isn't some ambitious fifteen year-old. Before too long, the girl makes it to the front of the crowd, with the cameras zooming in on her and murmuring beginning to come from hundreds of people.

"Oooh," I accidentally allow a soft gasp of surprise to escape my lips, taking in the sight of the girl. Wow, how can I describe her; she is stunning.

"Man, look at her! She's a damn pretty one," Glint mutters. I shoot him a filthy look momentarily, before begrudgingly retracting it. I can't really fault him for his words, because they are nothing short of true.

This girl is strikingly beautiful, appearing to be at a comfortable height, with long flowing blonde hair that meets the arch of her lower back. Her tanned skin comes close to a caramel complexion, with her emerald green eyes vivacious and sharp. Her face is heart shaped and glowing, blemishes appearing to be absent aside from a small white line above her left eyebrow ridge, one that I recognize all too well to be a scar.

Her body is athletic and alluring, built just like a runner, yet strangely enough she doesn't show much skin, which I find to be peculiar as she could easily play up the sexy angle. Perhaps she's rather modest, which would be a step out of the norm for traditional District 1 tributes . . . sort of like me.

"Ahh, so this was the one Terrance was telling me about," Glint remarks. I raise an eyebrow at him, his words having piqued my interest.

"Terrance mentioned this girl to you?" I inquire, causing Glint to nod his head.

"Yeah he did, he said if I made a donation to the Academy that I could do what I wanted with her for the night," Glint replies nonchalantly. My eyes widen as I turn and glare at him.

"A-are you saying that . . . she's a prostitute?"

"Well, yeah . . . she's a pretty popular one as well. Haven't you heard of her?"

My eyebrows furrow, as a scowl begins to form on my face.

"How the hell would I have heard of her Glint? Wait - you didn't accept did you?" I question him aggressively. Glint raises his hands up defensively, shaking his head profusely.

"No! Relax Lavish, I don't do that kind of stuff, and you know I'm engaged! I'm faithful to her," he scolds me, causing me to sigh.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I just hope she knows what she's doing," I murmur, referring to the mysterious volunteer.

"Don't worry, there's no need to judge her based on the fact that she's a prostitute. I mean look at her, does she look like someone that'll struggle to you?"

Glint isn't wrong, as I glance back at the girl who volunteered; she strides up to the stage with an aura of fierce determination. I always considered myself fairly good at reading people, and when I look into this girl's eyes, I see focus, a complete lack of fear or uncertainty. In fact, I get the vibe that she doesn't give off much emotion at all, despite being so well composed. It's as if she just feels . . . empty. I can't chalk that up to be a bad thing, but is it really a good thing either?

The girl confidentially steps onto the stage, with just about everyone's eyes on her, all awestruck by her beauty. I almost laugh at the thought of the Capitol gushing over me for my looks back when I was Reaped, I suppose I have to look pretty enough to warrant said attention, but in comparison to this girl I feel outshone. Perhaps it's my own insecurity with my looks, which is why I never felt like I could play up the sexy card, despite what others have said.

As the girl reaches the spot beside Trinkie, I perk up attentively to learn the identity of this volunteer.

"Oh my . . . I - wow," Trinkie splutters, clearly taken aback by the natural beauty of the volunteer.

"Darling, you're absolutely stunning! Please, do share your name!" The girl glances out over the crowd, a shy smile creeping onto her face and in turn the first major emotion I've seen her display. Good to know, she isn't just some hardened fighter that knows nothing but killing. She has a little humanity in her, I can work with that.

"My name is Vienna Lathing," she calls out loud and clear. This results in much more murmuring coming from the crowd, as more people appear to recognize her, at least by name. I can't help but notice that a lot of the boys talk amongst themselves excitedly; presumably well aware of whom Vienna is for one specific reason.

"Gross," I mutter, shaking my head. Trinkie's gasp of delight draws my attention back to center stage.

"Ahh, Vienna, that's a lovely name! Now Vienna, would you care to tell us why you have volunteered today?" Trinkie pushes, trying to get the most out of Vienna's initial introduction. This question interests me, what could someone like Vienna possibly want out of the Hunger Games? I can't imagine her situation is great if Terrance is pimping her out, but is this really worth risking her life?

Vienna stares out in front of her, a soft sort of determination taking over her face, one that suggests her reasoning is sentimental.

"For my mom, and for myself. To prove that I'm worth something to this world," she says quietly, her voice only being heard due to the projected noise of the microphone. Trinkie clutches where her heart is, her lower lip pouting suggesting Vienna's words have touched her.

"I'm sure you do dear, I'm sure you do," Trinkie responds comfortingly, lightly patting Vienna's back. Suddenly she perks up again, facing the crowd with a beaming smile.

"And I'm sure our next tribute does as well! I think it's about time we find out who will be joining Vienna here on this most honorable journey!" I almost scoff at Trinkie's words; honorable? Journey? Sometimes I really can't take this woman seriously. Maybe that's why we didn't get along great while I was a tribute.

Many of the boys that had been gawking at Vienna have diverted their attention back to Trinkie, who now stands behind the bowl of male paper slips. I too, watch as she raises her hand over the rim of the bowl, before diving it down deep within the pile of paper slips. From the depths her hand emerges, holding a singular piece of paper containing someone's fate.

Vienna too has turned her attention to Trinkie, watching in what almost appears to be trepidation as Trinkie unfolds the slip of paper.

_Come on Vienna . . . where's that confidence that you showed before?_

Luckily for her, everyone's attention is focused entirely on that one slip of paper, even the cameras have begrudgingly panned over to meet Trinkie's sparkling gaze, as her eyes scan over the name on the paper.

"Joining Vienna as our lucky male tribute, is . . . Jasper Malachite!"

"I volunteer for him," a voice almost immediately responds, with Trinkie barely getting Jasper's name out. A few cheers erupt from the crowd, mainly boys from around the seventeen year-old section. I spot a few slapping someone on the back, a couple more of them clapping whilst the rest of the crowd talk amongst each other grinning from ear to ear.

"No! God dammit," Glint groans beside me, leaning back with his face covered by his hand. I suddenly feel uneasy from his response to this volunteer, a sliver of concern beginning to creep into my chest. Is there something bad about this volunteer? Am I about to be stuck with a Romulus of my own?

"What? What's wrong?" I question worriedly, almost shaking Glint in the process. He shakes his head in annoyance, making an tsk sound with his teeth.

"Adonis volunteered, he's one of our best prospects," Glint mutters, causing me to furrow my forehead in confusion.

"I-I fail to see how that's a bad thing," I reply blankly, not sure at what Glint is getting at.

"Terrance - and in extension myself - was wanting him to wait and volunteer for the Quarter Quell, we have a lot of faith in him." I consider what Glint says for a moment, questioning whether or not I would agree with his statement. I always thought that Careers should wait until they're the highest possible age, but I know many fear that they'll miss out when the time comes, to someone else volunteering. Perhaps since many potential tributes would want to compete for a volunteer spot for next years Quarter Quell, this Adonis boy wanted to volunteer this year due to the lack of competition? If he's going in a year younger than recommended, he must be pretty confident in his abilities.

"It's not the end of the world Glint, it just means we have an even better chance of bringing home a Victor this year," I justify. Glint tilts his head, taking a moment to consider my words.

"You are technically right Lavish, but you can't deny it would be pretty sweet to bring home a Victor from a Quarter Quell," he replies. I feel a little spike of anger from his words; clearly his competitive mindset is getting in the way of his sense of morality again.

"Ugh, you're unbelievable sometimes," I scold him, before turning my attention back to Adonis. He has reached the front of the crowd now, giving the cameras and myself a clear view of him.

To say Adonis is good looking would be a bit of an understatement, because he's honestly pretty damn attractive. He stands at a commendable height, a few inches above six feet for sure. His body doesn't have a whole lot of muscle in comparison to some past Careers, but from what I can see under the loosely hanging white shirt, is that he's shredded underneath. His shirt compliments his skin complexion, I wouldn't call it fair skin but it's certainly not as tanned as Vienna. His face is dotted lightly with a few sun-kissed freckles, which leads me to stare into his rather dreamy sea green eyes. His pearly teeth grin as he waves to the camera as if he has already won the Games, which leads me to notice the jagged white scar along the topside of his right hand. This scar is old, but it outright beats the comparably tiny scar Vienna has near her eyebrow.

His scarred hand runs through his sandy blonde hair, ruffling it slightly to give it a little more volume. As he makes his way to the stage, I watch him repeat this notion three more times. A nervous tick perhaps?

As he arrives to the top of the stairs, Adonis makes brief eye contact with me, before winking as he flashes a toothy grin. My eyes widen, before I look away and begin to feel my cheeks blush with pink. Glint begins to chuckle, before he is abruptly stopped by my fist punching his leg.

"It seems like District 1 is very gifted this year in the looks department, because we have a pair of stunners competing for that role of Victor! What may your name be?" Trinkie questions, not hesitating to stuff the microphone into the face of Adonis. He lowers the microphone slightly with his finger, before regaining his composure and flashing a confident smile to the crowd.

"My name is Adonis Lockheart, and I'm honored to be up here!"

Suddenly, I feel the smile on my face falter, a sinking feeling beginning to make itself know in my stomach. I recognize that name, Lockheart. . .

My train of thought flashes back to three years ago, during the 96th Hunger Games. That was the year Asita from District 8 won, and the first year I mentored tributes. One of those tributes . . . was Sienna Lockheart. The girl that was so deluded in her final moments, that all she did was release a bloodcurdling scream as she watched her District partner get betrayed by a fellow Career, and continued to scream until the same tribute slit her throat.

Now that I picture her in my head, Adonis has an uncanny resemblance to her. They must be related in some way.

"Lockheart. . . is that who I think it is?" I question Glint to confirm. He nods his head, not taking his eyes off Adonis.

"Yeah, that's Sienna's brother alright," he murmurs. I groan, shutting my eyes as my thoughts flash back to Sienna's final moments. If he's anything like her, then we could be in trouble. Sienna volunteered as well, and quite confidentially might I add. However, something just seemed to crack when she saw her District partner brutally murdered, and what resulted was a year of people insulting her memory because of how she 'humiliated' us. For a first year Mentor, that was pretty confronting.

"Oooh, does there happen to be any relation to Sienna Lockheart of the 96th?" Trinkie asks curiously. I can see Adonis' eyes harden at the mention of his sister, his fists clenching whilst he bites his lower lip.

"Yes - and I'm volunteering for her, to carry on what she. . . couldn't," he croaks out, his voice significantly more shaky than before.

"That's very sweet of you dear, and all of us are behind you for it," Trinkie replies with a comforting tone. She turns to the crowd, grabbing a hand of both Adonis and Vienna, before lifting them up above her head.

"Ladies and gentlemen for the 99th Annual Hunger Games, your tributes representing District 1 - Vienna Lathing and Adonis Lockheart!"

The crowd roars in celebration as both Vienna and Adonis soak in the praise, before the pair are whisked away by two groups of Peacekeepers. Glint grunts as he stands out of the chair, turning to me with a look of satisfaction.

"Well there you go, if I had to judge that by anything, I would say we're pushing for contention this year," he grins. I nod, before standing up and getting ready to make my way to the station.

"You know what Glint? You may just be right this year," I smile back at him, before patting his shoulder and bidding him farewell. I hope he is right, because for once, I feel justified in my confidence.

* * *

**Cato Ludwig**

**~43~**

**District 2**

_**Victor of the 74th Hunger Games**_

* * *

"Look at all these people, they wish that they could compare to me."

As he stares out of the window, the taunting voice of Romulus fills the room, before he snorts at his own words in a way that leads me to be able to imagine his leering face in my mind despite not actively facing him. Not to my surprise, Romulus is being just as disrespectful and appalling as ever, having been a smart ass ever since he arrived to the Town Square. Disrespecting the crowd of people that have no choice but to be here? I would say that isn't beneath him. People have always said fame and fortune goes to your head, and Romulus certainly lives up to that phrase.

I honestly do find myself wondering what the hell goes through his mind, I mean sure he is young and dumb, like many of us have been before. I remember watching myself during the replay of the 74th Hunger Games, acting like a complete hothead with murderous intent. I was bred that way, molded that way; yet I grew out of it. I learnt a lot of things in that arena, about myself, and about us as humans. We take life for granted, us tributes from District 2, which is undeniable.

However, out of all the years that I have mentored since the 74th Hunger Games, and from all of the tributes I've watched die, or even have brought home, I've never known one as despicable as Romulus. The moment he volunteered, I remember the absolute disappointment I had felt. Seeing him literally punching other people as he tried to make it up before anyone else, I knew from then he would be a problem. Sure, when I volunteered all those years ago, I was excited. In fact I sprinted to the stage before the Escort at the time could even finish reading off the name on the paper. That cowers in comparison to his behavior however.

Romulus' District partner was my hope for last year, a quiet girl named Artiphene. She was extremely talented with her weapons, but held back by her small stature in comparison to the rest of the Career pack last year. I had been convinced that when it came down to it, Artiphene's intelligence and wit would give her an edge against Romulus, who was so ignorant of anyone else that I don't even believe he learnt all the names of the rest of his alliance. Unfortunately, Artiphene died during the Feast, meaning my final hope was Romulus.

A rushing wave of sadness floods my chest as I picture the image of Artiphene being slain during the Feast, her lifeless body strewn on the ground as her chest heaves ragged breaths. When I close my eyes, her body transforms, Artiphene's hair no longer a light brown, but rather a dark chocolate. Her pale skin darkens slightly to a tan, with freckles now scattered neatly around her nose. Her blue eyes are no longer there, replaced by dark brown iris' that appear almost black. What the eyes do share in similarities is the life that gradually drains from them, the lack of spark that they once held when we sat around the campfire under the Cornucopia.

I now stare at Clove, her eyes struggling to stay trained on my own as tears escape down the sides of her cheeks. Her lips tremble fearfully, as the blood trickles down from the gash in the side of her head. I'm too late, I can't save her now. My own selfishness blinded me of my sense of judgment, and because of my foolish actions Clove lays here dying in my arms. I cup the side of her face, caressing it gently as I wipe her tears with my thumb.

"Don't leave me Clove. . . please. We can still make it home together," I whisper, my own eyes beginning to flood with steaming hot tears. I blink them away, before Clove disappears from my arms. The flat grassland and the golden Cornucopia have vanished, and before I can get a moment to question what is happening, Romulus' snide voice snaps me from my trance.

"What?" I mumble, completely missing what he says. Romulus rolls his eyes, before folding his beefy arms.

"I said stop zoning out, it's fucking creepy dude," he scolds me, his face appearing peeved. I feel my forehead crease as his words sink in.

_Creepy? Of all people, he's the one calling me creepy?_

"Romulus, do you have any clue as to how absurd you sound calling _me _creepy? After what you did in the arena?" I bite back, pushing back the urge to sneer at him. Romulus simply scoffs in response, leaning back with a smirk.

"I just felt like doing it," he shrugs. I begin to feel a scalding hot anger in my chest, the urge to rip his throat out becoming all the more tempting.

"You're sickening," I murmur. How can he take such pride in the things he did? It's a competition about murder, sure, but he went above and beyond. The abuse he committed against that poor girl in the arena, it almost makes me want to hurl. Romulus flashes me a taunting look, before shaking his head with an evil grin.

"You should have taken your chance with Clove."

It's as if time stops, the moment the words escape his vile mouth. I've put up with a lot of shit from Romulus over the past year, but the moment he mentions Clove, is when I see red. Suddenly, I'm back in the arena again, the wave of fury crashing over me as I'm surrounded by the rubble that used to be our supplies. Next to me, Romulus is now the District 3 kid, one that I never bothered to learn the name of. The kids face morphs back into Romulus, before switching back and forth as my blood begins to boil.

Instead of reaching out to the kid and snapping his neck like I had once before, I grab Romulus by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall with my other fist raised ready to strike. Romulus doesn't exactly look fearful, but he sure as hell looks surprised, his eyes wide in confusion.

"What the hell are you-"

"I've let you get away with a lot over the last year, but if you ever mention Clove's name again, then I'll make sure to kick your teeth in," I grunt quietly as to not draw attention from the other Victors. Romulus simply sneers at me, snorting in amusement.

"I'm not afraid of you old man, you're way past your prime."

"Then perhaps I should have a word to President Snow - she even said her door is always open," I hiss. This works, as soon as I mention Caroline Snow, Romulus' face falls. He appears to grow sheepish, before he looks away refusing to meet my eyes. I release his shirt, before stepping away from him feeling satisfied.

"This type of thing . . . it can't happen with our tributes. You've got to grow a sense of maturity, because sure, you're all high and mighty now that you've won the Hunger Games. But it isn't your task to kill other people now, it's to save them."

Romulus sighs, nodding his head begrudgingly.

"Fine, whatever. If it gets that bitch off my case," he spits, referring to Caroline.

"Good. Now fix up the way you speak to people, because the last thing you want to do is drive your tributes away from trusting you. That's lesson number one," I inform him. Before he can respond, the sound of applause erupts from the crowd outside of the building. I glance at him, pointing to the door.

"That's our cue. When we get to the stage, do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut," I instruct as I stroll past him. Romulus opens his mouth in rebuttal, but for whatever reason he decides against it, opting to follow me whilst seething in frustration. We enter the main entrance to the Justice Building, which is rather quiet despite being filled with all of our Victors. I would have to assume it is because everyone is beginning to exit the building and make their way on stage. Romulus splits off presumably to get away from me for a little bit, but before I really question it I hear a piercing voice.

"There you are! Where have you been?" The frantic voice greets me. I'm met by the ravishing figure of Demi Rhineheart, who was District 2's most recent Victor up until Romulus. I mentored Demi to her victory as well, and as a result, we have bonded pretty well over the years. I grin at her, feeling the angst that Romulus had caused starting to drift away.

"Just having a chat with Romulus, teaching him his first lesson as a Mentor," I shrug. Demi tries to keep her fierce act up, before she too cannot help but crack a smile. She hugs me in a tight embrace, which I return instinctively.

"It's good to see you again Cato, it's been too long. I didn't want to get stuck sitting next to Brutus again, he falls asleep and snores," she shakes her head. I snort, before letting her go and walking with her out of the door.

"I would rather sit with Brutus than with Romulus, but I don't really have a choice this year."

Demi bites her lip, a flash of empathy detectable in her steely blue eyes.

"Honestly I would have to agree with that," she replies, before pausing for a moment. I really wanted Artiphene to make it back last year, I really liked her." I lower my eyes a little, nodding my head in agreement.

"Yeah . . . so did I," I sigh. Over my years of mentoring, I've grown to learn not to form attachments to tributes. But when you've got a year with Romulus as one of the representing tributes, it's hard not to cling onto the one sane tribute there. I grew fond of Artiphene, she really was a sweet girl. She was too kind to Romulus, she let him have way too much control over her as she was naturally a people pleaser. It pained me that I couldn't protect her; all I was reminded of was my own failure during my Hunger Games.

I don't get to reflect on Artiphene for too long however, because after a few moments all of us have reached the stage, filing onto it one by one.

"And last but certainly not least, we have Demi Rhineheart, Cato Ludwig, and of course our reigning champion, Romulus Lindell!" Our Mayor exclaims, causing an uproar of applause for us. I can't imagine many of the cheers would be for Romulus, but it's nice to know that Demi and I are still appreciated by District 2. Speaking of Romulus, a quick glance behind me confirms that he has once again met up with me, which is unsurprising as out of all the Victors we have to offer, Romulus has interacted with me the most. Fortunately, I'll have Demi alongside me for what could be a hellish Reaping of snide comments and condescending input.

As we sit down, the Mayor begins to speak about how excited he is, and how he has high hopes for us as the current victorious District. I roll my eyes a little, annoyed by his reasoning for us potentially winning again. Just because we won last year? That means nothing; he needs to get off his high horse if those are his expectations. I dare say our odds are lower now that Romulus is meant to be mentoring, I can only have so much say in his mentoring decisions.

Before too long, the Mayor finishes his speech, which can only mean one thing.

"Now without further ado, allow me to welcome back our magnificent Escort, Wisteria Whiterock!"

Having barely finished her name, the Mayor suddenly has the microphone snatched from his grasp by Wisteria, whom has practically skipped onto the stage out of excitement. Her long curly locks sway side to side in a bright white flash of color, with her pale face glowing with a fiendish excitement. Her eyes are wide and enthralled, accentuated by heavy amounts of gold mascara which matches the golden lipstick on her likely injected lips. She cannot help but beam with excitement, her pearly teeth appearing as ivory as her hair and clothes.

Wisteria loves herself; I can say that with certainty. Often her wardrobe choices revolve around an angelic inspiration, one that supposedly represents divinity and purity. Sometimes I think she's just a delusional woman, who really eats up any form of attention she can lay claim to. It's no wonder that she practically fought her way to being an Escort for District 2.

"Thank you so much for your warm welcome District 2! I enjoy nothing more than getting to be here with all of you as we find out what valiant fighters will join us for the greatest honor in Panem!" Wisteria cries out, earning her cheers from the crowd.

"Speaking of which, I think it's about time we find out just who they will be!"

Wisteria jumps up and down, clapping excitedly as the crowd begins buzzing with excitement. I can't help but smirk a little, thinking back to my own Reaping where everyone had been acting just the same. Nothing really changes when it comes to the Hunger Games, here in District 2. Many people had known I was going to volunteer, I was up at the higher end of my class at the Academy, and had easily beat out the other competitors for the choice to be a Volunteer. I was bred for it, and at the time, I had nothing on my mind other than winning the Hunger Games and claiming the glory that the Capitol gives.

I think overall, that's what really drove my vendetta against Everdeen, and of course Peeta. We made fun of him, calling him 'Loverboy' and such, looking back on it now it was foolish. He was just an unlucky individual cast into a competition of death, against the girl that he loved. We had no right to knock him for that alone. Katniss stole a lot of the limelight from me, which truly did piss me off, but Peeta . . . I just feel bad about his final moments now.

Sometimes I do wonder, if I had properly known Clove at the time of the Reaping, and felt the same way about her that I ultimately did during the Games, would I have ended up volunteering? Would I have wanted to go up against the girl I loved, just for the glory of winning the Games? I can't imagine I would have with my current mindset, but the Cato of old, he had one goal, and despite knowing of Clove, I had at the time never considered the possibility of love.

She hadn't even had a choice in being in the Hunger Games, just like Peeta. She was a year off of the traditional volunteering age, but that year no female volunteer had been selected. Clove had a general infamy within the Academy, she was fierce and talented, and quite feared within her age group. I never really interacted with her because I was slightly older, but I still had heard of her. From my understanding, nobody volunteered that year because they were afraid of her.

I almost chuckle thinking about it now, thinking of everyone fearing Clove. In comparison to the tender moments we had in the arena, and the affection she had shown which I never thought her capable of, it's almost laughable to consider her to be terrifying like others did.

It begs the question though, if such a talented tribute like Clove was Reaped from District 2, what are we in store for this year? Two volunteers? Or perhaps other hidden mysteries - the time to find out has now arrived.

"I'm gonna be disappointed if my first two tributes aren't volunteers," Romulus mutters just loud enough for me to hear. As much as I hate to agree with him, volunteers are usually more promising, although I'm sure Romulus' reasoning is that he wants people that are as passionate as he is about the Games.

"Even if they aren't, you're going to help them just as well," I reply without a glance. Romulus doesn't respond, as everyone is drawn to the voice of Wisteria as she makes a big show of selecting a slip of paper.

"Here we are ladies and gentlemen! Our first lucky lady who will be fighting for glory this year in the arena, and certainly winning of course!" She quips, her wink incredibly pronounced as she grins into the cameras. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves here Wisteria, we win one and it's suddenly 'wow we're great again!' to her. If anything, it makes it more unlikely, District 1 and 4 are going to hit back even harder this year.

I ready myself as Wisteria makes her way back to the middle of the stage, grasping the microphone intensely as she unfolds the piece of paper in raw excitement. Everyone has gone silent so that Wisteria can read the name out, allowing her to flick her hair back with every single ounce of attention on her.

_Here we go._

"Representing the female position for District 2, in the 99th Hunger Games . . . is Helena Ridgemont!"

The name is not one that I recognize too well, although I've heard of a few kids with the last name Ridgemont who have gone through the Academy. I have to assume Helena is a younger sibling of those, because I only ever hear about the older volunteer prospects. However, it doesn't entirely matter, because I don't need to concern myself with Helena anymore as a clear and confident voice rings out from the crowd.

"I'll volunteer!"

"Thank god for that," I hear Romulus utter, sighing in relief. The crowd has erupted into applause, as everyone attempts to get a good look of the volunteer, with a heavy amount of the interest being aimed towards the eighteen year-old section.

"A volunteer! Oh yay! Please do come on up dear!" Wisteria exclaims, obviously ecstatic that we have produced yet another volunteer. After a few moments, the girl arrives at the front of the stage, causing me to nod impressed.

I do recognize this girl, she was one of the volunteer prospects for this year, and from what I hear a pretty damn talented one as well. I feel a slight nudge on my shoulder, before turning to glance at Romulus.

"Who is she? Is she good?"

I shake my head in disbelief, repressing the urge to sigh.

"Do you not at all look into who might be volunteering each year?"

"No . . . why would I do that?"

"I'm not even going to answer that. Yes, she is a good volunteer, her name is Andromache," I inform him, turning back to watch Andromache as she makes her way up onto the stage.

"Oh, yeah she looks good, I rate her," Romulus grins. I roll my eyes, hesitant to comment further.

"I suppose you're referring to her appearance, aren't you?" I sneer.

"Of course, that's literally the most important part," he replies. I don't acknowledge Romulus' words any further, although I do have to admit, she isn't bad to look at.

Andromache possesses long chocolate brown hair, which swings down by her lower back with every confident stride. Her cheekbones are sharp and perfect, accompanied by an olive skinned complexion that is common of District 2. Her face is full of pretty features, such as her full lips and soft brown eyes, which almost appear warm and amber, and are embellished by thick lashes that give her an aura of innocence. Her eyebrows are incredibly defined, manicured delicately in a way that makes her look slightly older than she otherwise would, perhaps trying to subside the innocent look. Her body is slightly petite, not overly curvaceous but with an athletic physique.

Unlike Romulus, for me it isn't entirely about a tributes physique. His mind is still that of a teenager, although I dare say exceptionally vulgar, and clearly single-minded. What I am interested in is whether or not a tribute has skill. Thinking back to my Hunger Games, Glimmer was an airhead, she had some training under her belt, but by no means was she a match for someone like Katniss, with actual skill. What she had going for her, was her body and looks, yet both Clove and Katniss made it much farther than she did.

Andromache doesn't fall short of that comparison; she's got plenty of skill to make up for her smaller size - at least that's what I've come to understand from her selection from the Academy. District 1 will often choose tributes that have both skill and looks; here in District 2 our main focus is an individual's ability.

Watching Andromache walking up certainly validates my suspicions, she sways her hips without care, her full lips curled into a determined smirk. She doesn't play it up for the camera; this is just how she presents herself.

"I wonder how she compares to Artiphene," Romulus questions, biting his lower lip. The gaze that Romulus eyes Andromache with, it's a seedy, creepy stare - one I've seen enough to know what may happen after.

"Romulus, first off, don't mention Artiphene, you don't have the right to. Secondly, I know what you're thinking, don't try anything," I mutter sternly. Romulus groans and punches his leg.

"You're so damn boring Cato," he grunts.

"And you're so fucking revolting," Demi pipes up, eyeing Romulus with a sneer. Before Romulus says anything back, I hold up my hands, attempting to defuse the situation.

"Guys, just watch the Reaping," I sigh, shutting both of them up. I know Romulus' perverse opinions on Demi, he was very vocal about it when he was fawning over her last year. The last thing I want is him to be running his mouth off to her.

Luckily enough, Andromache has finally reached the stage, where she stands prideful with her head held high. I've got a good feeling about her; she's going to be a tough nut to crack in the arena.

"So darling, what is you're name, and why have you chosen to volunteer for us today?" Wisteria questions, holding the microphone in front of Andromache but not close enough for her to take it. Wisteria of course wanting the control and attention, despite having the first tribute up there with her - I can't say I'm surprised.

"My name is Andromache Poyner, and I've volunteered today because I need a little change in my life, a little excitement," Andromache responds loud and clear. Huh, interesting . . . it's almost like she's bored with her current situation. My suspicions are heightened when Andromache continues.

"I need to break free from the shackles I have on my wrists, and representing all of you this year is how I want to achieve it, or at least die trying!"

This gets the reaction from the crowd, the amount of applause easily surmounting that of Wisteria's entrance. District 2 loves a committed and prideful tribute representing them, and whether Andromache is genuine or not, she's giving them what they want at least on the surface.

Wisteria struggles to conceal her displeasure at the larger amount of applause for Andromache over herself, leading her to wrap things up pretty quickly.

"Well that's fantastic to hear Andromache, and we have no doubt that you will do a marvelous job! However, you won't be going in there alone - I think it's time to find out who will be the lucky companion that Andromache will have in the arena!"

This riles up the crowd again, leading Wisteria to revel in the applause. In a very similar fashion to before, Wisteria takes her time with picking the slip of paper, really trying to soak up the energy from the tension. When she picks out a slip of paper, all eyes follow it as she raises it above her head. Andromache stares with her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised to suggest slight impatience. Perhaps she knows how this is going to play out, maybe she knows who will be volunteering this year, and that Reaping this next kid is pointless.

I have heard rumors of who the Academy have selected to volunteer this year, although I can't be all too sure. Supposedly, it's meant to be a boy named Reign Draconia, who just like Andromache, I have heard great things about. He has long been speculated to be a future volunteer, and if my memory serves, he was meant to be eighteen this year; the perfect age. If we have both Andromache and Reign entering the arena this year, then we are in for a promising Hunger Games.

Wisteria clears her throat once more, making sure everyone's eyes are once again on her.

"Joining Miss Poyner in the 99th Hunger Games is . . . Atreus Pantheon!"

"I vo-"

"_I volunteer!_"

I raise an eyebrow at the sudden commotion, with people murmuring as they try to understand what is going on. From the sounds of it, someone attempted to volunteer, and was interrupted by another person volunteering. This should be interesting, if this person has gone against the choice of the Academy, he's going to face repercussions should he win and return home.

"Uh, what the fuck is happening?" Romulus questions, for once his tone void of malice and taunts. It sounds like Romulus is just as confused as everyone else; his reaction is rather valid I would say.

"Well, _someone _has volunteered . . . I'm just sure how many," I answer with what I can confirm. I have to see how this plays out before I prematurely judge.

"Ohhh, um, it would seem that we have a few people interested in volunteering!" Wisteria exclaims, sounding just as befuddled as the rest of us.

"Thanatos - what the hell are you doing?" One of the volunteers shouts. I recognize the voice as the one that got cut off by the other volunteer, not getting to complete his sentence. The cameras manage to find the person that says this; greeting me with a face I vaguely recognize to be the suspected volunteer, Reign Draconia. His face appears baffled, not angry but just purely stunned. If I had to guess, he is the chosen volunteer who has just had his role snatched from him by this Thanatos individual.

"Well it looks like we have to take this to the rule book! As enforced various times in the past, if two people attempt to volunteer at the same time, the individual who managed to complete their sentence first is technically the first to officially volunteer! Can we have the young man that managed to complete his volunteer statement please make his way up to the stage!" Wisteria exclaims.

This happens every now and then, and unfortunately for Reign who appeared to have gotten cut off mid-sentence in surprise, this other boy that he knows is now taking his place. The crowd is rather silent as Thanatos makes his way up to the stage, which doesn't surprise me at all. Volunteers that steal the spot from an allocated volunteer are frowned upon heavily; it's seen as stealing someone else's glory and doesn't leave the individual very popular back in District 2. Combined with the fines he will have to pay to the Academy if he wins, it begs the question, is it really worth it?

Once he makes it to the front of the crowd, I finally get my first proper look at Thanatos. He stands at a slightly above average height - if I had to guess around six feet tall - with a slender physique that is defined with muscle. His face is rather triangular, with a sharp jaw line and high cheekbones. His eyes are warm and caramel colored, garnished by thick dark lashes that match his gently curling black hair, which is parted slightly on the right side and threatening to cover his eyes. Above his eyes are thick, arched eyebrows that are embedded on his smooth chestnut skin, a light brown in color that suggest a biracial parentage.

When Thanatos trudges up the stairs that lead to stage, my eyes flit to Andromache, curious as to what her first impressions of Thanatos may be. I'm not sure what I expect her expression to be, suspicion at him for stealing the thunder from Reign? Disgust for the very same reasons? It's neither, but rather a look that suggests she is impressed by his actions. This relieves part of me; it means that their compatibility might not be so rocky. Two fighting District partners is never convenient, especially when both are Careers. Not only does it affect the two tributes, but the whole of the Career Pack as well.

Wisteria doesn't seem at all concerned by these events, if anything, she looks twice as intrigued. Perhaps she knows the controversy that this will bring, causing more attention to go her way. She welcomes Thanatos to the stage warmly, which I'm actually thankful for because it breaks up the tension in the air quite a bit.

"So, Thanatos I believe I heard your name was?" Wisteria questions. Thanatos nods in response, his expression having remained stony this entire time.

"Thanatos Elegia ma'am," he responds, sounding deathly serious.

"Well Thanatos, is there a reason behind your decision to volunteer today?"

"To bring someone back to me," he replies, his expression appearing softer.

"Ooooh, rather mysterious are we Thanatos? Are you suggesting you want to fight for someone's affection? Someone's love? An ex perhaps?" Wisteria pushes, trying to get more out of him. I shake my head disapprovingly, this is a job for the Master of Ceremonies, so she needs to stop bombarding him with personal questions. Despite Wisteria trying to impose on Thanatos' personal affairs, he doesn't seem bothered, likely because he understands he is not at all inclined to answer her.

"You could say that," Thanatos replies, not really confirming nor denying her guesses. Regardless of his reasoning, my goal is to get either him or Andromache home, I couldn't really care less as to why they choose to volunteer. That's their own personal objective.

"Very well, I hope we get to find out more about the madness to your method Thanatos," Wisteria grins, going on to introduce Thanatos to Andromache with the public display of sportsmanship in the form of handshaking.

"I already hate this guy," Romulus spits, staring daggers at Thanatos.

"How you feel about him, that's how everyone feels about you," Demi informs Romulus, earning a greasy look in response.

"I would be willing to change that perception for you," Romulus grins at Demi, causing her to roll her eyes and look back at the stage.

"Why do you hate him?" I question Romulus, mildly interested. I could guess why, but I suppose I might as well hear him out.

"For one, he has stolen the spot from that other guy. If someone tried to do that to me I would have knocked their lights out," Romulus sneers as he looks darkly at Thanatos.

"You punched people anyway when nobody else volunteered," I point out bluntly.

"Yeah, because they wouldn't move out of the way! I needed to get to the stage quickly!" He exclaims.

"Any other reason?"

"The other reason, is because what kind of idiot goes in just out of love? If you love someone, why would you risk your life when theirs isn't in danger? The stupid kid is as good as dead."

Romulus actually makes a valid point, I don't know why Thanatos thinks going into the Hunger Games is a good idea to bring someone back to him, especially when the likelihood of him coming home is one in twenty four.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your District 2 tributes for the 99th Annual Hunger Games . . . Andromache Poyner and Thanatos Elegia!" Wisteria squeals, causing an uproar of applause, although I'm sure most of it is for Andromache. The pair are quickly surrounded by Peacekeepers, before they are escorted off of the stage, looking poised and ready.

"Alright, well don't let that hatred show when we meet Thanatos, and remember what I said, no funny business with Andromache," I lecture him, standing up as the crowd is dismissed. Romulus smirks, before nodding his head.

"Whatever you say big man, so where to next?" he questions. I motion towards a line of cars that await passengers heading towards the same destination we are.

"We head to the station," I reply. The two of us begin to move, before I feel a hand tugging at my shoulder.

"Cato wait, I'm going to come along this year," Demi exclaims excitedly. I chuckle, amused by Demi's eagerness to join us in the Capitol. There's nothing I can do to stop her from coming, not that I would want to, but it's entirely her choice. Caroline Snow has been very vocal about her ambition to be more integrated with the Victors, which has included fewer restrictions on them as well. For being such prominent figures, it does make sense; it also gives the Districts more flexibility than what they were under Coriolanus Snow's tyranny.

Under Caroline's rule, any Victors whether they're mentoring or not are now permitted to travel to the Capitol if they wish. All Victors are welcome during the Hunger Games, and when they are called in for meetings or business purposes, however now Victors can go there for months at a time. This has been a huge step for travel, as inter-District travel is still illegal aside from Victory Tours. It makes it easier for people like Newton and Ceres who are two Victors from different Districts, in a relationship and unable to visit each other in their respective homes. The only time they could see each other is if they were both mentoring, but now the pair can see each other whenever they both go to the Capitol.

That is another law that Caroline has relaxed on, the relationships of differentiating District Victors. Although President Snow frowned upon it, he never really cracked down on it as long as the Victors didn't procreate and kept their relationships restricted to their private lives. Although we all knew about Ceres and Newton for a few years, they only went public with it when President Snow was on his last legs, in no position to concern himself with their relationship. Many of Caroline's changes have been for the better; perhaps this is a new age, a better one for us as Victors.

As a result of Caroline's changes, Demi stands before us, pulling on my wrist as she urges for us to walk.

"Come on let's go!" Demi pleads, before excitedly making her way over to the car. Romulus glances at me, before smirking as he watches Demi from behind, eyes lowered at her derrière.

"Yeah, let's go Cato," he adds on, before following after Demi. I close my eyes, shuddering at the thought of hearing Romulus flirting with Demi all train ride long.

* * *

**Newton Tillford**

**~23~**

**District 3**

_**Victor of the 92nd Hunger Games**_

* * *

I hate social settings. I've never been a very sociable person; crowds just generally aren't really my thing. They're usually loud, obnoxious, and invasive. Being who I am, I draw attention as well, which never used to be the case around eight years ago. I would consider myself to be introverted, so to be in front of a crowd of loud and raucous people is less than desirable to me.

Yet . . . I would still rather that than be in front of the crowd that stands in front of the stage right now. I haven't even made my way up onto the stage and I already dread it, the feeling of despair already diffusing to my current location. What is it that gets me? The anxious, fearful crowd that await to find out who will be sent to their deaths? The helplessness of the young children that causes some to cry? Or is it that torment of a thousand silent eyes that stare at me in jealousy, wishing it was them that was rich, and famous, and most importantly safe from being Reaped or having loved ones stolen?

It's all of it, all of those things I truly despise about Reaping Day crowds. I never asked to be in this position, I never wanted it. I have no damn choice; I can't ditch the Reaping, and wait on the train for my tributes to inevitably come my way. I have to watch their pain and suffering at this condemnation first hand. It kills me.

I pace back and forth, groaning to distract me from my impending duty. My chest flutters, and I really begin to notice just how lightheaded I feel. It's entirely from nerves; the airy feeling from being intoxicated doesn't sit well with me so I tend to turn away from alcohol. That being said, maybe it would soothe my nerves . . . no, I hate the idea of not being entirely sober. I need to be well aware of my situation; otherwise that feeling comes back to me. That same feeling I felt in the arena, always being hunted, always having to be wary. To this day I can't feel safe - not unless I'm with her.

I stop in my tracks, placing my wiry hands on the windowsill. I can vaguely see my reflection in the cool glass, before it morphs into her face, Ceres' face. My face relaxes, a sudden warmth rushing over my body at the thought of her. If only she was here now, sometimes it feels like she's the only one that can calm me down.

I've always had an erratic personality, that's indisputable. It stems from when I was younger, when I always had to keep an eye out for people trying to mess with me. I was a target, lonely and awkward of course making it easy for the bullies to pick on me. They grew relentless, until I had enough of their shit and I decided to take action. I planned revenge, I planned defenses, and soon those kids learnt to keep away from me.

From those days, I learnt to always watch behind my back, until I found my own methods of deterrents. Shortly after, I was Reaped for the Hunger Games, and it was a thousand times worse. The Careers during my Hunger Games were particularly cocky, and prone to bullying and intimidating a lot of the other tributes during training. Why? I'm not too sure, I always figured it was just to inflate their ego, to show off to each other and prove that they were alphas of the tribute pool.

Naturally, me being me, I was an easy target for them. I couldn't exactly defend myself during training because physical combat between tributes was and still is prohibited, meaning any retaliation would result in my punishment. So they could freely verbally bully and threaten me all they wanted, and I could do absolutely nothing about it.

I remember the bitter feeling I had felt, the anger and frustration that had pumped through me as I had to stand there and cop it. I knew they would target me in the arena, their clear disgust of me was abundantly clear, and because of this, I'm still afraid of them to this day. Sleeping in my quiet house in the Victors Village, I still snap awake at random intervals, terrified that they're on their way to kill me. What if my traps don't work? What if they outsmart me and make my death even more painful out of spite?

It takes a few moments for me to regain my senses usually, to realize that it all happened six years ago, that those Careers are long dead and that I'm safe back in District 3. Supposedly . . . I have severe PTSD from the Hunger Games, something that I can't say shocks me. These panic attacks happened for months post-Games, never seeming to relent as they were a nightly occurrence.

That was, until my Victory Tour. It was day four, and we had finally reached District 5, one of the places that had intrigued me and that I had actually been looking forward to seeing. The celebratory dinner had been far less intimidating than the first three, as they had all been for Career Districts, and although the Victors were far kinder than their tribute counter-parts, I couldn't help but feel terrified.

However, there in District 5, when I made eye contact with Ceres Powell from across the room, the Victor from the previous year who I had admired and rooted for during the 91st Hunger Games, I felt my chest flutter much more differently than before. I watched her stride up to me to introduce herself, before we conversed non-stop for the night, too busy talking to one another to pay attention to anyone else. By the end of it, we were in her bed, breathing heavily from the passion that had just taken place. I had never felt safer than in her arms, I had never felt more infatuated . . . more complete.

There I was, geeky Newton Tillford, a notoriously reclusive outcast, in bed with the famous and beautiful Ceres Powell, previously reigning Victor of the Hunger Games. Who would have thought?

It's hard to say what drew us together. In personality we are polar opposites, she being confident and bubbly, myself being awkward and insecure. Yet she seems to bring out the best in me, and for some reason loves me for the fool that I am.

"Why do you have that shit-eating grin on your face?" A humored voice questions from behind me. I'm suddenly aware of the foolish smile on my face, with my facial muscles twitching because they aren't used to such a thing. I swing around in an instant, only to see a young woman with long, curly black hair. Her skin is fair and dotted with a cute application of freckles, complimenting her peachy lips, while her electric blue eyes observe me in amusement.

"I was wondering when you would get here Leizi," I murmur, leaning back against the windowsill. Leizi Thornwhip, my fellow District 3 Victor, and my Mentor back during the 92nd Hunger Games. Can I say it's a pleasant sight to see her?

The short answer is yes, over the years both Leizi and I have grown closer, being some of the few Victors District 3 has to offer. We've grown a bond comparable to that of bickering siblings, with Leizi often taking up the role of the snarky older sister, and I as the submissive younger brother - not by choice. Seeing as I am the only one Leizi has ever been able to bring home from the Hunger Games, I suppose she's always had a somewhat emotional attachment to me, even though she wouldn't be caught dead admitting it.

She joins me by standing next to me, staring out the window at the full crowd that has formed in waiting for the Reaping.

"I know there is only one thing that causes you to smile like that, you were thinking of her again weren't you?" She grins slyly, causing my cheeks to grow red.

"I was . . . reminiscing, about when we first met."

Leizi snorts, punching me in the arm, which admittedly hurts a little.

"I remember it vividly, you were inseparable. I suppose being in this building would spike up that memory, seeing this was where you were introduced," Leizi shrugs. "Plus . . . you miss her don't you?"

I catch Leizi's knowing eye, before nodding in confirmation.

"Yeah you could say that, I know I saw her only last week when we met with Caroline Snow, but we barely got enough time to spend with one another," I sigh. Leizi chuckles before patting my back softly.

"You'll have plenty of time to spend with Ceres now, you're both mentoring, plus there's those laws that have been revoked by Miss Snow, you guys can go to the Capitol pretty much any time you want to see each other. Hell, I could tag along with you this year if I wanted to!" Leizi exclaims excitedly. I raise my eyebrow, smirking in the same fashion Leizi had just been doing to me.

"Are you saying you want to come to the Capitol with us this year?" I question.

"Pffft, and be a third wheel to you two? I don't think so, maybe I'll do it next year when I know more Victors that will come along," Leizi shrugs. I roll my eyes, before standing up straight.

"Third wheel? Ceres is great at including people," I defend.

"And you're the opposite - so that balances it out nicely," Leizi grins smugly, flicking my ear to annoy me.

"Ow - I cant really dispute that," I grumble, rubbing my stinging ear. Leizi makes a tsk with her teeth, before shaking her head.

"Newton, you survived the Hunger Games, surely a flick to the ear isn't that bad," she rolls her eyes.

"It was unnecessary, not bad," I reply, my mouth twisting to prevent a smile. As I say this, I flick Leizi's ear in retaliation, grinning from ear to ear as she gasps in surprise.

"Hey! You're just being immature now," she pouts, a hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised.

"Don't deal what you can't take I guess," I shrug, with Leizi appearing huffy.

"Uhhh . . . do you two realize you're about to be introduced on stage?" A sudden voice questions from the doorway. The two of us whisk around to see a Peacekeeper leaning against the doorframe, appearing bored by what he sees.

"Ah shit, lets go!" Leizi gasps, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me behind her. The setting shifts drastically, as one moment we're safe and concealed, away from the world in a grand building. The next, we're cast into the harsh, overcast sunlight, surrounded by the stares of thousands of solemn teenagers and adults. My heart begins to thump rapidly, before I take a deep breath and attempt to focus on something else.

I take notice of Leizi's sharp grip on my wrist, her nails almost digging into my skin. Although it's slightly painful, it's a reminder that Leizi is here with me, I'm not completely alone up on the stage. My breathing begins to calm, and before too long, I've managed to calm myself down.

_You've done this for seven years Newton, it's no different now as it was the other times._

As all of the Victors reach the stage - the few of us that there are at least - we take our positions in front of our seats, awaiting the Mayor to continue what he would have been saying prior to our entrance. He raises an arm towards us, a small smile placed on his face.

"Please, a round of applause to our brave Victors," he instructs, causing the crowd to provide a polite smattering of applause. I can't say I blame them for being less than enthusiastic. I wave back hesitantly, noticing out of the corner of my eye how Leizi beams and waves intently. How the hell does she do that? Years of having to do the exact same thing I suppose.

We take our seats shortly after, a sigh of relief escaping my lips as I plonk onto the chair. At least there won't be too much attention on me from here on out, it'll all be on the tributes that are Reaped, and also . . .

"Now, I would like to warmly welcome back our most valued Escort, the lovely Miss Ellie Lowbrook!"

Just like clockwork, Ellie is introduced to the stage, gliding out rather elegantly with her electric yellow ringlets of hair trailing behind her. Her amber eyes observe the crowd compassionately, something refreshing to see from a Capitolite other than Caroline Snow. Her pink lips are curled into a hopeful smile, perhaps hoping to select two capable tributes this year.

Out of the general lineup of Escorts, Ellie is certainly one of the more tolerable ones. She's usually very calm and collected, which is fitting for us, as we don't need someone like Wisteria Whiterock trying to hype us up like she would for District 2. Ellie is also one of the younger Escorts, only starting a few years ago, which is why she has one of the lower tier Districts, happening to be us. Fortunately, she's also very kind and humble as a result, which I hope continues for some time in the future.

"Thank you Mayor Circuit, and hello District 3! How time flies, it feels like it was just yesterday that I was here last!" Ellie exclaims.

"Alas, the time has now come to randomly select two individuals, a boy and a girl, to compete in the 99th Annual Hunger Games. The very last of the double digits, it's going to be a special one," she utters, almost leading me to believe I hear a hint of sarcasm in her words.

"I won't get too ahead of myself however, as we first need to find out who those two individuals will be! So as tradition holds, we shall begin with the ladies."

If it was tense before, I don't even know how to explain the atmosphere now. It's as if a vacuum has sucked out the air from the surrounding area, the silence so pronounced that you could cut it with a knife. Each step Ellie takes towards the female bowl echoes throughout the Town Square, just making the suspense all the more terrifying.

I find myself holding my breath, which I continue to do as Ellie selects a random slip of paper from the midst of the pool. Her hand emerges from the bowl, holding two slips of paper. She seems to relax her grip, until one falls from her hand, leaving the other doomed to the role of tribute.

Ellie opens up the piece of paper as she arrives back to the center of the stage, reading it silently for a mere moment, before announcing it the world.

"The female tribute for District 3, taking part in the 99th Hunger Games . . . is Didgit Lancaster!"

I don't know what I expect . . . a wail? For Didgit to burst into tears? To run away, trying to escape the doom that has been projected onto her? Reactions like those are common for District 3 tributes to provide. However, after the first few seconds, I can tell that won't exactly be the case this year.

It's a few moments before there is any drastic reaction, in fact, the name of 'Didgit Lancaster' echoes throughout the silence, with people waiting for something to happen. Staring out at the crowd, I can see hundreds of girls faces all ease up in relief, yet most still appear contorted by curiosity, now wanting to witness the unlucky girl that is being sacrificed for them.

Then it happens, the reaction. Not anything that I expected, it sounds like a laugh. It's short, very brief, but I can sense the spite within it. The complete bitterness embedded within the curt laugh cuts through the absence of sound, not particularly loud, in fact I don't think anyone else seems to hear it.

Immediately after, a shift of movement occurs within the seventeen year-old section, before a girl pops out at the front that can only be Didgit. She stands at a slightly above average height for a girl her age, with a slender but developed physique. Just like most in District 3, her complexion is on the pale side, with slightly wavy coal black hair that sits loosely, reaching just below her shoulder blades, with a long bang swept to the left side of her forehead. What sticks out the most for Didgit, is her gold-flecked amber eyes, which sit fixated on Ellie.

Strangely enough, Didgit has a smile planted on her face, not one that radiates confidence or excitement, but one that appears to be out of courtesy. If I had to judge based on her initial reaction, she's attempting to pass off her irritation of being Reaped, and mask it with pleasure. Clever, it seems to be convincing most.

"She sort of reminds me of a younger you," I whisper to Leizi, who looks at me questioningly.

"How so?"

"I'm not sure, I guess she sort of looks like you did when you were a tribute," I shrug. Leizi tilts her head as she observes Didgit, who has reached the top of the stage and is close to reaching Ellie.

"Hm, maybe. Let's hope she follows in my footsteps," she replies, raising her nose to feign arrogance. Of course, resembling the appearance of a Victor doesn't inherently mean you're going to win. However, the way she presents herself, the way she appears to put on this aura of serenity in the face of being Reaped, it's promising to say the least.

"So Didgit, what's going through your head? How does it feel?" Ellie questions, as Didgit stops beside her. She appears to take a moment to reflect her answer, before clearing her throat softly.

"Surreal. It's easy to imagine someone else being Reaped, but when it happens to you it's . . . something else," she responds, frowning a little at the end of her words before forcing back on her convincing smile. Nobody will take notice of that; it's only natural for tributes to appear dismayed upon being Reaped.

Ellie squeezes Didgit's shoulder comfortingly, her eyes once more giving that compassionate glance.

"I can only imagine, I think we all can," Ellie reassures Didgit, who bites her lower lip in concern, still appearing to come to terms with what has happened.

"Now, you aren't alone in this Didgit, because we still have to find out who will be joining you on this challenge. I think it's time to anoint our second tribute for District 3!"

Just like that, the attention is off Didgit, who if anything, looks a little relieved by this. Everyone's eyes are back on Ellie, who steadily makes her way over to the male bowl of slips. It sparks a memory, of my own Reaping several years ago. The Escort selecting that piece of paper, my name escaping her lips as she reads it out to the District, the snickering and laughs of those that once bullied me audible behind my back, as I froze in place unable to move a muscle.

I can only pray, that whoever is the unfortunate boy to get selected this year, is a capable tribute in some way. Whoever it is, I'm about to find out, because Ellie stands back in the middle of the stage, lips parted ready to say the boys name.

"The male tribute for District 3 this year, will be . . . Kirby Heyward."

Just like Didgit, there is no immediate reaction. No cries, no screams, nothing, which makes me a little hopeful. However, that hope is short lived, as seconds later I see movement coming from the twelve year-old section.

"Oh no," I mutter, hanging my head low upon realizing that a twelve year-old has been Reaped. Maybe he's a really buff, vicious twelve year-old, with the cutesy, innocent name of Kirby. Surely that's a possibility? I know a twelve year-old has never won before, but there's a first time for everything, right? Before too long, my questions are answered when Kirby emerges from the line of children.

"Oh shiiiit," Leizi groans, refraining from covering her face with her hand. Kirby is certainly not buff, and the idea of him being vicious is laughable. He stands at around 5'4", certainly shorter than Didgit, with a skinny frame complete with a chubby face. He has a babyish appearance, with a small nose and ears, thin eyebrows and almond shaped hazel eyes. His hair is short and curly, a dark brown in color with a fade around his head. His cheeks have reddened deeply, and I can tell he is attempting to be brave as he attempts to walk high and mighty. Unfortunately, he's too small to give off that affect, still having that cute and helpless factor.

A few of the girls in the crowd 'aww' sympathetically, likely all thinking the exact same thing. Nobody needs to say anything, because everyone knows exactly how this will play out for young Kirby.

"Why the fuck are twelve year-olds still eligible? It's honestly the stupidest rule about these Games," Leizi spits in disgust. I can't help but agree, what chance does Kirby have against a trained killer from the Careers? Even an untrained, malnourished eighteen year-old from District 12 could probably best him.

I glance up at Ellie, who even she can't seem to believe what she has done. She looks absolutely horrified at having picked a twelve year-old to compete; I can see the genuine shame within her gaze as she watches Kirby make his way up the stairs.

"K-Kirby, I . . . how do you do?" Ellie asks in a high pitch, appearing lost for words. Kirby stops next to her, taking a deep breath before speaking into the microphone.

"I'm okay," he squeaks in his prepubescent voice, causing both Leizi and I to visibly cringe.

"This is painful," I murmur.

"You're telling me? I had to mentor like two other twelve year-olds before I mentored you. I can tell you now Newton, you're going to struggle," Leizi whispers.

"Great, thanks for the support," I reply bluntly, rolling my eyes. I pay attention once more to Kirby, who speaks about how he hopes to make it home to his parents and friends. Ellie appears to be eager to wrap things up, darting her eyes around nervously before locking eyes with me. She glances from side to side, before mouthing the words 'I'm sorry' towards me. I give her a knowing gaze, before she whips around and takes control of the microphone.

"Well I hope you have a great crack at it Kirby! I'm sure you'll make your parents proud! I'll just have you come over this way and have you meet Didgit," Ellie utters in a shrill voice. She guides Kirby towards Didgit, who scans her eyes over Kirby sorrowfully. She sticks out her hand, putting on a comforting smile for Kirby, who takes her hand and shakes it lightly, returning the smile in a hopeful manner. Ellie grabs both their wrists, before facing towards the crowd.

"District 3, your tributes for the 99th Hunger Games - Didgit Lancaster, and Kirby Heyward!"

The applause from the crowd is a little louder than usual, although I can assume it's out of encouragement for Kirby. The two of them are escorted away, Kirby being led away a little more carefully, before Ellie continues on to wrap up the Reaping.

"So . . . are you sure you don't want to come?" I ask Leizi, giving her an almost pleading stare. Leizi glances at me, before sighing heavily as she looks back at Kirby, who is about to disappear into the Justice Building. She is silent for a moment, before cursing and throwing her hands in the air.

"I sort of have to now, you'll be helpless without my guidance," she frowns. I furrow my brow, not entirely agreeing with her statement.

"Hey, I've mentored several tributes by now."

Leizi snorts in response, shaking her head.

"You're not mentally prepared to mentor a twelve year-old . . . I wish I had someone else with me when I had to mentor my first twelve year-old," she replies softly. I remain silent, not wanting to affect Leizi's decision. I'm not going to complain, I did want her to tag along after all.

"Great . . . so I'll meet you at the station?" I inquire. Leizi laughs, before flicking my ear again - to my dismay.

"We'll get a ride there in the same car you idiot, sometimes I wonder how you were bright enough to win your Games," she grins, before squeezing my cheek. I shake my head at my words, my cheeks going red from the squeeze and from embarrassment. I say some stupid things sometimes, and it's always around Leizi, meaning she has more to tease me for.

I hate how awkward I can be.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

**Here we are guys, the first Reaping chapter for Heir! This was a long ass chapter, I'm completely aware of that, and it's likely going to follow this pattern throughout the story. I find that long stories are the best kind, so I've always accustomed my writing to follow that format, not exactly intentionally, but just because I get carried away with my writing! **

**Anyways, what did you guys think? A lot happened in this chapter, we got our first glimpses at six of the tributes, them being Adonis, Vienna, Thanatos, Andromache, Kirby, and Didgit, I would love to see your first impressions of them, and if any of them are your submitted characters, I would love to know what you thought of my portrayal! We also got to see more of the Mentors for the featured Districts; Lavish, Cato and Newton will be Capitol POV characters during the Hunger Games, as well as the other Mentors that are in the following chapters. We got to see some secondary characters as well which was enjoyable to write, not all of them will have a big role in the story, some were simply there to create a dynamic within the POV. It's safe to say that we will see more of Demi and Leizi, although their appearances will be sporadic.**

**So to wrap things up, I would love to hear your thoughts on the various characters introduced, the plot points set in motion, and perhaps some predictions or thoughts you may have! We will be seeing a lot more of the tributes from their POV's starting with the Train Rides, just to clarify if anyone was concerned that the Reaping chapters aren't from the perspective of the tributes. This way I can get through the Reaping's much quicker without burning myself out! I'm not sure when Reaping II will be coming out, because I will be going back to Uni soon, but the more feedback I receive, the more determined I'll be to get the next chapter out!**

**Until next time!**

**-Winter**


	7. Reaping II: Ocean, Power and Trains

**Reaping II**

_Ocean, Power and Trains_

* * *

**Amphitrite Lockwater**

**~26~**

**District 4**

_**Victor of the 90th Hunger Games**_

* * *

The distant sounds of crashing waves, the odd seagull call echoing throughout the cove, and the smell of salt in the air, tickling my nose as I breathe in deeply. It all paints a rather serene picture; one could be forgiven for forgetting that today is Reaping Day. You wouldn't think that something so peaceful could be occurring at the same moment two people are volunteering to take part in their own deaths. Of course, I have no way of knowing that there will be any volunteers for sure, however the odds are that of course there will be some foolish teenagers willing to risk their lives for a shot of glory.

Who am I to talk? I was once the same kid who put all her cards on her own odds of making it out of that petrifying arena. I may have been a Career, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't petrifying. I thought I was prepared to come back alive - and apparently I was, considering the fact that I'm here now, lively and well. But what I can say is I sure as hell was not mentally prepared for the hardships of the Games.

No matter how anyone comes out of the Hunger Games, how seemingly easy they had it, they lost a part of themselves in that arena. They came out a new person; some are just better at hiding it than others. Ceres, the most bubbly and joyous Victor I can think of, I've watched here ever since she won. She entered that arena happy and innocent, she left it traumatized. She would never admit it, not even to herself . . . but I know. I'm willing to bet that she faces more hardships than she puts on; she's just particularly skilled at hiding it.

There's Romulus as well, quite the narcissist and deplorable human being. He acts high and mighty, but there's something more to him, something that people just disregard because of the way he acts and because of the things he has done. I don't care how cocky and proud he puts on that he is, I'm not convinced.

He likely thinks he has some reputation, some image to uphold. It's not entirely truthful, and the way he lashed out at me during that meeting with Caroline Snow, it makes me feel as if he's dealing with some things internally. Of course, this doesn't mean I like him, he's been a piece of shit since he volunteered, but thing is it came more naturally at the beginning. Nowadays, at times it feels like it's being forced, or overdone.

Regardless, I can't help but feel my lips smirk as I reflect on what he had called me at that meeting. A 'traitorous little whore', he found to be a fitting insult to call me. It was laughable at best, especially when the word 'whore' has no relevance to me in the slightest. What I found interesting was 'traitorous', is that how District's 1 and 2 perceive me? Perhaps for Romulus, but the short answer is no.

It's been nine years since I was in the arena, and aside from a few outbursts from people during my Victory Tour; nobody has ever said anything else to suggest that they have any form of resentment towards me. I've never had trouble with any of the other Career Victors; in fact I get along with most, if not all of them. Using the same logic, Lavish would be considered a traitor as well for deceiving the Pack and using her skills and knowledge against them.

I consider Romulus to be quite immature still; he has no idea what the next few years will do to him. Therefore, I don't give his opinion the time of day; in fact I scoff at his words just as I did in that meeting. He doesn't understand that what I did, what Lavish did, we did to get out of that arena. He may have been skilled enough to fight his way out, but I had to find other methods to beat my fellow Careers of that year. They would put Romulus to shame, they were deadly, unrelenting, they didn't care about the attention like he did - they just wanted to win.

I suppose you could say I wanted to win a little bit more, to the point where I dared to manipulate these dangerous individuals to turn on one another. It was surprisingly easy when I reflect on it, the majority of them were focused on their goals, but they weren't too bright. It's as if they all were looking for reasons to tear each other apart, all I had to do was give them a little push.

Unfortunately, many of the tributes I've mentored have followed suit with the same foolish mistakes. Careers generally tend to greatly underestimate the power of manipulation, the importance of the mind, some of the tributes I've mentored are living proof of this - well, rather deceased proof. They're reckless, impulsive; for once I would just like some formidable tributes that I can truly shape as a Victor.

It's not that they've never fit my vision; plenty of them have been serious contenders. I just can never seem to get through to them to be careful and cautious in the arena. In the 91st Hunger Games, the two of my tributes were trapped and electrocuted thanks to Ceres. The 92nd, both of them perished to Newton's traps, trying to pursue him despite other Careers being killed by the same traps. The 93rd was the closest I've had to bringing home a Victor; the girl I mentored that year placed second, having been slain by Terra Everbloom of District 9. The 94th was when Paddock killed both of my tributes in a blinded rage, due to their underestimation of his strength.

The 95th was the year Lavish took out the Careers, which extended to my two tributes again. I don't hold her to that however; in fact I admire her for pulling it off. The 96th was where both of them died from the result of Asita Clearway's manipulation of the Career Pack, and the 97th was just a train wreck when the eventual Victor from District 6 spiked the Careers with hallucinogens that caused them to kill one another.

It's safe to say, my tributes haven't had the best track record for placement, I really need to change that this year, otherwise I'll start to think that perhaps I'm the problem.

"Amphitrite? Are you okay?"

The voice cuts clearly through the salty air, soothing and sweet to the ear. There's only one person that voice of honey could belong to. I turn slowly to face the person, their sandy blonde hair billowing in the breeze as their sea green eyes meet my own with a look of concern. His sharp, cleanly shaven jawline is tilted with his head, as he examines me with caution.

"Just reflecting Finnick, and hoping," I reply absentmindedly, my eyes drifting to the view out of the window far behind him. The crowd has doubled in size since I last stared out of it, waiting down at the bottom of the long line of steps that lead up to the Justice Building. We don't use a stage in District 4, considering the fact that our Justice Building is situated atop of the highest cliff we have. The Town Square rests slightly lower; meaning the front of the Justice Building has enough leverage to be used as the stage.

A snap of fingers draws me to attention once more, with Finnick putting a hand on his hip.

"Hmm, you're not usually this out of sorts, where is the attentive Amphitrite that I'm accustomed to?" He questions, his peachy lips forming a humored grin. I shake my head with a smile, lowering it before glancing back up at him.

"Sorry, I'm just deep in thought. I've had a lot to think about considering the changes that have been made over the past couple of months," I explain, sighing heavily. Finnick nods his head, before joining me by the marble barrier that overlooks the crashing waves by the cliff-face.

"Are these thoughts concerning anything negative? Your expression was quite telling compared to its usual mystery."

I raise an eyebrow at his words, interested by what he states.

"Telling you say? How so?"

"You seemed worried, concerned, uncertain," he responds, shrugging. "I know you're a very good actress, and devilishly good at reading people, but you forget who I am."

I cannot deny, Finnick is the master at acting, he knows just how to get exactly what he wants out of a person. He used to pride himself on the 'secrets' he could extract from Capitol lovers. Being able to read people, even people like myself, is just an extension of his talents.

"To be fair, I thought I was alone, I had no reason to put on a facade," I point out. He smiles, chuckling a little.

"That doesn't defeat the fact that there was something troubling you," he disputes my words. I sigh in defeat, before turning around to look once more at the ocean view.

"I just wonder . . . am I doing something wrong? Everyone I mentor dies, is there something that I'm struggling to do?" I question. Relying on myself, I'm fine most of the time. I know I can get through things, and during the Hunger Games, I knew exactly what I needed to do. When it comes to helping others, they always do it their way, and as a result . . .

"Don't be silly Amphitrite, you're doing fine, in fact I dare say you would be one of the most beneficial Mentor's to have!" He exclaims. I scoff at his words, rejecting the idea.

"Coming from you? You got Annie out of the arena _after _she snapped. That takes serious skill as a Mentor," I mutter. Finnick goes silent, not really having words for what I said. It takes him a moment, before a reply finally comes.

"I could only have done so much, the same applies to you. It's what the tribute decides to do with the help you give them. If they ignore it and get themselves killed, then so be it. Annie . . . at that point was almost a robot for me to control. I put her into scenarios that I knew she could survive, and as a result of her not being reckless, she simply outlived the other tributes," Finnick explains.

"Huh, so it comes down to that again, tributes being reckless," I murmur blankly. Finnick nods, before squeezing my shoulder.

"That's why you are here now, you broke that wheel, you were the outlier," he says, smiling once more. I suppose in a way he is right, I could have easily played aggressively and tried to rely on my prior training, and that would have gotten me far. Against the other Careers though? The odds of me winning were low in comparison, I'm decent at combat but some of them were abnormally skilled. I got particularly unlucky with the tributes I had to face that year, some have said the 90th Hunger Games had some of the best fighters in the history of the games. Four tributes that year received an eleven in their Private Session scores, that in itself is telling of how difficult it would have been to go head on against them

"Finnick, you still have some prominence in the Academy. Do you know who has been granted passage to volunteer? If there is anyone of course," I question. Finnick bites his lip, before shaking his head hesitantly in response.

"Nobody has been allocated this year, anyone is welcome to volunteer if they wish. No one applied to compete because everyone seventeen and younger is hoping to volunteer for the Quell next year, and the eighteen year old class was rather . . . lackluster," Finnick twists his mouth. I close my eyes, breathing deeply to prevent myself from getting too annoyed by his words. Both District 1 and 2 will undoubtedly have volunteers, I just have to hope that I get one or two that decide to volunteer as well. With my luck, I'll get Reaped tributes that are on the younger side of the spectrum.

As if reading my mind, Finnick chuckles and pats my back comfortingly.

"Don't worry Amphitrite, anything is possible. I won at fourteen!" He cries out. I roll my eyes, a small smile creeping up on my face as I lightly punch his arm.

"You're the only one ever to win that young, don't act so humble," I scold him. He shrugs before making his way forward.

"You never know! Come on, I think the rest of us are making our way out now," he grins, before he sets his direction towards the big shell encrusted doors of the Justice Building entrance. I follow in pursuit, examining the opal texture of the doors base material. It's bright and vibrant, but that won't even compare to the brightness of the sunlight that floods in as the doors open. I stand expectantly behind the numerous Victors, before I hear the cheers of the crowd from the bottom of the steps.

_In three . . . two . . . one . . ._

The doors slowly swing open, the raucous noise now doubling in decibels. As we are made visible to the crowd, they become even more riled up, cheering and screaming our names with excitement. I think back to the Victory Tour, when I was visiting most of the outer-Districts, and think how it's such a stark contrast to the reception we receive here. Until you visit those Districts, it never really occurs to you how much more the Games are celebrated in the Career Districts.

As the top of the stairs is the stage, exiting the building puts us right out in front of everyone, meaning the Mayor introduces us one by one. The generations of Victors are slowly narrowed down; with soon enough Finnick's name being announced to a momentous round of applause.

I can't help but smirk and fold my arms - leave it to Finnick to be celebrated so warmly. Before he sits down, he stands by his seat looking back towards us Victors that haven't been introduced yet, a loving look in his eyes as he watches the next person step forward as they're introduced. Annie Cresta, still as gorgeous as the day she was Reaped. At forty-five years old, she looks barely a day over thirty, with her flowing red locks, and glowering happy face.

Her azure blue eyes are only for Finnick, as she waves politely to the crowd and grins at him with her pearly whites. To this day, I can't believe how lucky she is to have made it out of the arena, Finnick must have pulled some serious strings in the Capitol, because there is no way the Head Gamemaker at the time willingly flooded the arena - not without payment. No matter what, Finnick refuses to divulge into details, and honestly I can't blame him.

All I know is that woman was out of the job not long after, and replaced by the infamous Seneca Crane. My thoughts are quickly dispersed by the Mayor's voice, which booms through the speakers as he begins to mention the 90th Hunger Games - my Games. Quickly highlighting the feats that I achieved in the arena, he begins to motion towards me as I make myself visible on the platform.

"Last but certainly not least, our most recent star, Amphitrite Lockwater, Victor of the 90th Hunger Games!"

I address the crowd with a light wave as I make my way to my seat, observing myself briefly on the mega screen. My face is rather void of emotion, but I can't help but notice the sly look in my eyes. Do I appear like that to everyone?

I force myself to smile a little harder, not quite bringing myself to show teeth, but to show that I'm relatively content with the current situation. Every time I'm on camera, in front of a crowd, anything of the sorts; I always feel like I'm still in the Hunger Games, that I still need to be careful, and conceal my inner thoughts so that nobody can read me. It's a tad problematic when meeting new people, but sometimes I just can't help it, it comes naturally which was helpful back when I needed it.

I take a seat next to Finnick, which I have done every year since I became a Victor. As we are both particularly analytical, the two of us always have interesting thoughts on whoever is Reaped or whoever volunteers. Sometimes it helps me to prepare to engage with whomever I'm mentoring.

"Now, the moment you've all been waiting for, it's time to introduce our stunning Escort! Please welcome to our District . . . Laguna Copperhorn!"

From the depths of the Justice Building, emerges Laguna looking as fervent as ever. She has always had a passionate attitude towards District 4, I think she's grown a pride in us as if we were her sport team. She strides out onto the stage, her face radiating confidence. Her cheeks have portions that are styled to appear like fish scales, ones that shimmer in the light an aqua blue in color. Her hair is a similar hue in order to match, rippling down her back like waves of the ocean, whilst her eyelashes, eyelids and lips are also styled a replicating color.

Laguna is rather pretty, and she has certainly been more stylish than other Escorts are. Most wear something that vaguely reflects the industry that the District they represent works in, however Laguna goes all out purely because of the spirit of the Games.

She marches up to the microphone, happily taking it from the Mayor's hand as she revels in the applause.

"Oh goodness . . . ladies and gentlemen, I'm so ecstatic to be back right now! I've been waiting for so long, and I'm sure you all have as well, who's with me?" She exclaims, earning a roar of approval in response. She giggles giddily, before clapping her hands in excitement and glancing over at the bowl of female names.

"Well need I say anything else? I think it's time to get this show on the road!" She squeals, causing me to wince at the shrill tone of her voice.

"Ugh, she can be insufferable sometimes," I complain, causing Finnick to snort in response.

"Let her be, she's excited is all," he justifies. Yeah, excited to see who will be getting killed this year maybe. Regardless, I watch as Laguna skips over to the bowl, before standing over it and peering inside as she attempts to decide on which one to pick.

"So you're sure nobody has been allocated as the Academy volunteer?" I question once more. Finnick nods his head, looking quite certain.

"Positive. If someone volunteers, it's of his or her own accord," he reiterates. I sigh, before watching Laguna swipe a name from the top of the pile. Despite the fact that whoever this is could be a disastrous tribute, I still can't help but notice that the feeling of gut-wrenching feeling of nerves is absent from my body. Of course I'm concerned about who I could be stuck mentoring, however the queasy feeling that many experience from nerves never seems to show up.

Whoever is about to be Reaped may feel that exact thing within a matter of seconds, because Laguna unfolds the piece of paper, ready to read out the name of the female tribute of District 4.

"District 4's female tribute, for the 99th Annual Hunger Games, will be . . . Libra Rosebreeze!"

I find myself rapidly glancing around at the crowd, not only to look for some reaction and in what age section it takes place, but also to see if anyone volunteers as well. It's only a matter of seconds, before I begin to see some movement within the sixteen year-old section. I feel a little pressure lift off my shoulders, sixteen isn't too bad, and this Libra girl hasn't burst into tears or anything of the sorts. But then again, it doesn't even matter because of what follows after.

"I volunteer for Libra?" A voice cuts through the air, one that emanates pure disbelief. Huh, what a strange tone to say that with, especially during this particular scenario. It almost sounds as if this person is confused. The voice comes from the sixteen year-old section again, and from this I have to assume that this person at least knows of Libra. Perhaps she volunteered as a self-sacrifice, although her tone didn't suggest anything of the sort.

"Oh excellent! We have a volunteer!" Laguna gushes, positively enthralled by this fact.

"This is interesting, I'm not sure what to make of it . . ." I trail off as I lean closer to be audible to Finnick. His face is contorted into one of confusion, yet a vague glint of curiosity is still quite evident in his eyes.

"That's one way to put it," he mutters, his focus still on locating the volunteer. He doesn't have to wait too much longer, because soon enough she makes herself known at the bottom of the stairs. As she begins to walk up the quartz steps, I finally get a clear look at her on the mega screen. Being sixteen, she's quite small in stature, and slender in appearance, still being in her adolescent years. Her hair is thick, a dark brown in color and parted in the middle, with both sides of her hair billowing down to her chest region.

Naturally, it's indisputable that she has an alluring appearance; she's a pretty girl on the surface. I notice that her skin has a nice tan to it; not deep, but commendable, with a few freckles dotted around her button nose. Her face is round and cutesy, but her eyes are perhaps her strangest feature. A steely grey in color that radiates coldness, yet in this current moment there is an unparalleled delight that is evident in her gaze. A crazed glee I would say, and finally, I can understand why she volunteered the way she did.

As she strides up the stairs, she lets loose a rather chilling giggle, the type that one struggles to keep inside when it has been triggered. As her giggle echoes throughout the Town

Square, she appears to be thinking deeply to herself, possibly amused by the fact that she volunteered, which could be why she struggles to conceal her laughter. I can't help but think it's rather uncharacteristic, she seems so innocent by her appearance, but the way she acts severely contradicts this. If anything, she seems dangerous; this is either a dumb, airhead act like Lavish did, or she is slightly unhinged.

"What the -?" Finnick cuts himself off, for what I can assume is a loss of an explanation.

"I guess we just let her speak for herself," I reply with a whisper. When the girl reaches the top of the steps, Laguna holds a cautious hand to her shoulder, even herself seeming to be taken aback.

"Young lady, you seem quite beside yourself! Care to introduce us?"

"Sorry for the laughter, I just can't believe how easy that was! I figured someone would volunteer for her for sure, but if nobody else would, here I am! My name is Cinder Halloway, and I want to be District 4's next Victor!" The girl announces to the crowd. This earns an excited response from the crowd, who clap in support of Cinder.

"Ahh, the name rings a bell," Finnick breathes. His words capture my attention; usually this is a good sign that the tribute is formidable.

"Yeah, and?" I urge him to disclose more.

"She's a pretty damn good fighter from what I've heard, I'm sure she would have had a likely shot at volunteering at eighteen as well," he replies.

"Well, better than nothing I suppose."

"Congratulations Cinder, you were the first and only to volunteer so it is official, you indeed have a shot at being District 4's next Victor!" Laguna beams, causing Cinder to beam ecstatically.

"I can't help but feel she's getting too ahead of herself," I frown, as Laguna sets out for the bowl of male names. "I also still get weird vibes from her, but maybe I can work with it."

"Let's hope," Finnick smiles. The two of us no longer speak as we watch Laguna scoop up a slip of paper, her eyes wild with excitement as she head back to the microphone.

"Alright, our second tribute for District 4, our male tribute, is on this slip of paper!" She exclaims, causing hushed murmurs of excitement amongst the people. They cease immediately as Laguna unfolds the piece of paper, with Cinder bouncing up and down slightly with anticipation.

_Well at least she's eager, _I reassure myself. My eyes focus back on Laguna as the microphone stops in front of her lips.

"That lucky individual is . . . Ophiuchus Sandsea!"

Immediately, the crowd begins to murmur to one another, although I can't tell if it's out of pure shock, or absolute excitement. I notice Finnick raise an eyebrow, his mouth twisting somewhat doubtfully.

"You seem unsure, I have to assume you know of him then?" I question. Finnick nods his head, rather speechless for the time being.

"Am I about to be stuck with a useless tribute?" I sigh, feeling the disappointment brewing.

"Not exactly, Ophiuchus is talented and did very well at the Academy . . . but he quit a year back, became very family oriented and all," he explains.

"Oh . . . and now-"

"Now he's being dragged back in," Finnick shakes his head, appearing dissatisfied. That's really unfortunate, I can't help but feel a little bad for Ophiuchus, and from the sounds of it he has quite the great life currently. Even if he wins, it'll never be the same again.

"Someone can still volunteer for him right?" I suggest, trying to think of a way out for him.

"Well Ophiuchus is already at the front of the steps and there is yet to be a volunteer. I don't think anyone is going to this year," Finnick rejects the concept. Sure enough, from the seventeen year-old section emerges Ophiuchus himself, appearing quite stunned if anything.

The boy that stands before us is quite tall, and perhaps a little skinny due to the lack of training since he left the Academy. Despite this, the remnants of muscle can be observed, with his body still maintaining a healthy physique, perhaps just lacking the body mass. I notice his face is a little red, not from embarrassment but indisputably from sunburn, although it is not too severe to the point where it's the only noticeable thing about him. His eyes stand out against the pink of his face, aquamarine in color, whilst his sandy blonde, disheveled hair is cut relatively short.

He has a soft look to him, and would seem to normally look approachable if it weren't for the look of utmost shock in his eyes right now. A few whistles and cheers can be heard from behind him, as people urge him on to make his way up the several steps ahead of him. He looks around vivaciously, presumably trying to regain his bearings as he trudges up the steps.

"Poor kid, he clearly didn't want to go into the Games. I'm shocked no boys wanted to volunteer this year," Finnick huffs.

"I can't say I'm surprised with next year being the Quarter Quell," I reply monotonously. If this had happened a year later for Ophiuchus, someone would have undoubtedly volunteered for him, luck really isn't on his side.

"Welcome up here Ophiuchus! What's going through your mind right now?" Laguna asks, trying to comfort the clearly concerned Ophiuchus.

"I-I really have no idea what to think. I just didn't consider that it was a possibility that I would be up here," Ophiuchus responds, his voice sounding slightly detached.

"Of course! It's a very special occurrence, and now both Cinder and yourself get to experience it first hand!" Laguna beams, patting Ophiuchus on the back. His look of concern doesn't change, and he appears to mumble something to himself under his breath, however what that may be is completely inaudible.

"So Ophi - can I call you Ophi? Your name is quite the mouth full."

"Yeah that's fine . . . It's what most people call me actually."

"Well Ophi, I'll have you come over here and join you up with Cinder, just out of a traditional sign of respect!"

Ophiuchus - or Ophi I suppose - and Cinder now face each other, with Cinder having to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. Ophi looks down at her, seeming to finally break himself out of his stunned stupor enough to flash her a friendly smile, before sticking his hand out for her to shake.

Cinder raises an eyebrow at him, clearly analyzing what he does, before she smirks and squeezes his hand. I can tell she grips it hard, because Ophi's eyes widen in surprise, his smile faltering for a moment before he chuckles nervously. He is quick to release her hand, rubbing his own against the hem of his shirt. However, quickly after, Laguna is already gripping his hand again, as she raises both his and Cinder's arm into the air.

"District 4, introducing the two tributes representing you for the 99th Hunger Games! Cinder Halloway, and Ophiuchus Sandsea!" The crowd roars in response, clearly pleased with the two presented tributes. I must say, to have someone as keen as Cinder to volunteer, and to be lucky enough to have Ophi get Reaped, maybe we do stand a closer chance this year.

I watch both tributes as they are escorted away into the Justice Building, passing me on their way. Ophi seems distracted, not making eye contact with anyone and attempting to locate someone in the crowd, whilst Cinder refuses to look at anyone, staring straight ahead as the Peacekeepers lead the way.

"You're in for an interesting Hunger Games this year Amphitrite," Finnick grins as he stretches his back.

"Yeah I get it, be thankful I'm not dragging you along with me," I roll my eyes, stifling a grin.

"You wish I was! Anyways, I've got to get Annie home, she wanted to start preparing for our Reaping Day celebrations," he smiles with a glint in his eye. "Good luck Amphitrite, my faith is with you!"

I watch him go as Annie wraps her arm in his, resting her head on his shoulder as he leads her away. I shake my head as I watch them, standing up from my chair with a sigh.

"That bastard, I know I'm mentoring this year, but where was my invite?"

* * *

**Ceres Powell**

**~25~**

**District 5**

_**Victor of the 91st Hunger Games**_

* * *

The view would normally look phenomenal from up here. The balcony of the Justice Building stands tall and grand, providing a panorama of the various locations located in District 5. Our trademark giant hydro dam filled to the brim with clear water, our fields of wind turbines that continuously turn in a tranquil manner. Those turbines will continue to turn once the tributes Reaped today are dead, and even when I'm dead as well.

Then of course there are the electrical power plants, with great flashes of white and blue constantly emitting from the power grid. In the far distance, rests our solar panels, all directed to the current direction of the sun. It truly is a great view from up here . . . just not in these circumstances.

I lower my gaze to the Town Square below me, watching as the floods of people enter and line up in their respective age groups. Even from up here, you can tell how they all appear - solemn, sad, scared, it hurts me to see them all like that.

I sigh, resting my elbows on the ledge as I support my cheek with my hand, causing one eye to be forced to squint as that side of my face bunches up. This isn't the Ceres they see on television, this isn't who they've come to learn about over the past eight years. It isn't the Ceres I know either, I hate feeling like this but there's no question that Reaping Day puts a dampener over most people, even people such as myself.

They don't have to see me like this though; nobody does - except for one. Not the Capitol, not Newton, only one person. That person is due to be up here any moment now, but as I wait, it gives me time to reflect. Reflect on what exactly? On everything. Everything that I've been through, and everything that I've had to overcome to stay true to myself.

It was never going to be easy, but I had little choice in the matter, having been Reaped of course. Nobody ever volunteers in District 5, and although I may have been well liked by my classmates and age group at the time, nobody was going to put their life before mine. I can't blame them; in fact, I would have been upset if they had. As dangerous and scary as the Hunger Games were, the thought of letting someone die in my place who didn't have to, was more confronting than the idea of death itself.

So what could I have done going into a game of death? All I could think of was to stay genuine, to stick to who I was, keep my spirits up, and show that I was okay with what was happening despite my internal fear. It worked in my favor, which was great! People back home saw me as the happy, bubbly girl I always was beforehand, and would feel less anxious than seeing me quiet, distraught, and panicked. When the Capitolites saw me, they would hopefully be excited and drawn to my personality. It was never a strategic play, it was always genuine - because if I allowed myself to lose hope, I allowed myself to lose in general.

The years since have been both the happiest and most tragic years of my life. I've loved, lost, almost everything in between as I've been thrust into the Capitol spotlight. They always have been particularly drawn to me, or perhaps even impressed. The type of feats I achieved in the arena, some hadn't been seen since the year Beetee Latier won his Hunger Games. He electrocuted the final six tributes to become a Victor, and I manipulated lightning to electrocute the six Career tributes of my Hunger Games, ultimately ending in my title of a Victor.

I feel a chill run down my spine as I remember precisely how it played out. The weather in that arena had been stormy the entire time, which was easy for access to rain water. The Careers had used a water tank to collect rainwater, giving them an almost endless supply of filtered water. The Careers always had one tribute on watch duty, but due to how dark the arena was from the storm, and how thick the rain fell down, it was easy to sneak up to their water tank, whilst being concealed by the loud rain and thunder, and almost invisible due to the elements.

I had grabbed a small box during the Bloodbath, which happened to contain vials of solutions that could only be different types of drugs. There were no poisons, so I had to make do. A powerful sleeping drug was in one of the vials, and once I tipped it into the already filtered water section of their tank, my plan was set in motion. It took a couple hours for them all to gradually fall asleep. Until only a couple of them were awake, there was no suspicions raised, but by the time they caught on it was far too late.

I wasn't able to execute the final phase of my plan while they slept; it took until they had all woken up before the storm had moved close enough to us. They were all restrained by chains that I had found, meaning the only thing that they could do was panic and try to escape, to no avail of course. When I made myself known to them, they lashed out at me verbally, not even attempting to try to reason with me. It made what followed so much easier than it would have been otherwise.

All I had to do was pull a lever, before the six of them were hoisted into the air, dangling from a large metal pole I had found within the rubble of the buildings within the arena. The timing was impeccable, because within moments, the lightning struck. It was one of the most horrifying things I had ever had to watch, the way their bodies spasmed and jolted, the way their eyes bulged and their screams drowned out the sound of the thunder.

One by one their bodies went limp, the constant flow of electricity from the pole and chains being too much for their bodies to handle. Six cannon shots followed, and if they weren't so consecutive, other tributes probably would have mistaken them for more thunder. The image of them hanging there dead, after what _I _had done to them . . .

"Ceres?"

I raise my eyes, which had been trained on the crowd below, my head perking up after my name had been spoken.

"Are you okay? You look a little shaken," the voice asks, concern prominent in the tone. It's only after that, when I realize how I must look. My knuckles are a pale white, as my fingers grip the bannister of the balcony incredibly hard. I stand hunched and shaking, whilst my face feels as if it's tense and contorted in a state of fear . . . just as it had done after the death of the Careers.

_Ugh, get out of my head! _I think angrily. I need to stop thinking about this, it's only going to make me breakdown. I haven't broken down since that moment occurred.

"Yeah . . . yeah I'm fine Esther," I exclaim, trying to play it off. The shrillness in my voice hurts my ears, and I can tell that Esther winces from it as I turn to face her. By now, my smile is embedded upon my face, although I can still taste the metallic blood that has escaped from my lower lip, having bit down on it so hard as those terrible memories flooded my brain.

However, once I see her, the smile becomes a little more genuine. Esther Powell, Victor of the 87th Hunger Games - and my older sister. From the moment I was Reaped, my surname was already well known by Panem. I suppose it always did give me a little boost in my popularity at the time of being a tribute, but being constantly compared with Esther, and having to make myself separate from her was less than ideal.

The thing is with Esther and I, is that in many ways we are quite different people, despite being siblings. We look very similar as many siblings do, some have even said when we stand beside one another it's hard to tell us apart, but in terms of personality, we are almost stark opposites. I am commonly known to be carefree, confident, and extroverted, whilst Esther has always been more serious, quiet, and likes to keep to herself.

_She should have been named Ceres instead of me, because she's the seri-ous one! _I have to stifle a giggle at the thought of that.

Terrible pun aside, Esther is both my best friend and my burden, being the older sibling she has always had a sense of responsibility, and has always felt that she needed to care for me, and protect me. Looking up the word 'overprotective' in a dictionary, you would find a picture of Esther frowning at whatever 'stupid' decision I have made. I know she means well, but at times it can be quite a lot. She took years to come around with both Newton and I being together, but that wasn't even the worst of it.

When I was Reaped, she couldn't even handle it at first. She broke down in her train compartment on the way to the Capitol, it took me hugging her all night for her to calm down. After that, she wouldn't leave my side, trying to give me as much help as she possibly could. I felt really bad for my District Partner at the time, she was showing a clear bias, and wouldn't even let him speak to me. It's pretty much the reason why they haven't had her mentor since I won.

Now she stands before me, looking just as concerned as she always does. This time I guess it is warranted, I can only imagine how distressed I probably appeared, but right now I have no intention of reliving my worst memories again just to explain to her how I was feeling.

"You don't seem fine," she scolds, folding her arms and knowing that I'm not telling the truth. One thing that I struggle with is lying. I've never been able to lie, and Esther knows this. Regardless of this, I don't need her fretting over me when two innocent children are about to be chosen to compete in their death.

"I-I just feel bad for the tributes that will be Reaped today, truly, I'm okay," I cry out, patting her on the shoulder.

"Come on, lets go down there, I'm sure we are going to be going out on stage soon enough."

Esther raises an eyebrow at me as I take her by the wrist and lead her towards the elevator.

"Whatever you say Ceres," she tells me in a knowing voice. One thing I can give Esther credit for, is she knows when to not push it with me. If I have no intention of telling her something, she knows there's no way of getting it out of me.

The trip down to the ground floor is rather quiet, especially for me; usually I can't stop talking, but considering the fact that I don't want Esther bringing up my clear distress from before, I opt to remain quiet. I glance at her as she leans against the wall of the elevator, staring blankly at the ground as we listen to the hum of the elevator. Reaping Day is enough to suck the spirits out of anyone, and with the history of how my tributes have done, there's not much to look forward to. I can only hope that I have some decent tributes this year.

"How long do you think my tributes will last this year?" I question Esther, trying to regain my talkative spirits. Her eyes flit to me, before rolling them with a snort.

"Not very long, the last few years they haven't, I don't see much changing this year," she responds. I huff, my eyebrows furrowing as I shake my head.

"Pessimistic much? They haven't even been Reaped yet, how do you know they aren't stronger than the Careers?"

"Exactly, they haven't been Reaped yet, so why bother asking? There's no way of knowing!"

"Yet you still gave an answer . . ."

"Uh, yeah - just basing it off of statistics."

Now it's my turn to snort, amused by how little faith Esther has. Don't get me wrong, it's hard to blame her, District 5 doesn't have a very strong track record in Hunger Games history, Esther and I are our only Victor's within the last quarter century. With an attitude like Esther's though, there's no way they're going to do any good.

"I'm sure they could be amazing," I murmur, a smile planted on my face. The elevator dings to signify that it is about to open, to which Esther turns to me and tilts her head.

"Could be doesn't mean will be, just remember that Ceres. We've both watched our fair share of tributes die under our mentorship." The doors slide open, allowing us both to step out. Esther pauses for a moment, folding her arms and looking away from me rather sadly.

"I just . . . don't want you to get too upset, when they inevitably pass away," she whispers. I look at her disheartened gaze, before embracing her in a hug and patting her on the back.

"Esther, if I managed to come back, so can they. The odds of me being the one tribute you brought home were so low, yet here I am!" I point out softly. I hear her sigh, before feeling her chin brush against my shoulder as she nods her head.

"Let's hope for your sake that you're right," she chuckles.

"Not for my sake, for their sake," I reply, pointing out at the solemn crowd that awaits our introduction.

"You guys are on in a few seconds, get ready," a Peacekeeper grunts as he enters the building. I take in a deep breath, allowing myself to only think of happy things.

"Come on, lets go," Esther groans, before leading the way to the door. Moments after, we follow out the few aged Victor's that we have, before we all step up onto the stage one by one. When the cameras find me, I see myself projected on the mega screen, and despite the grim atmosphere, my smile pushes through as I still manage to look relatively enthused by what's going on.

_I'm sure the Capitol citizens will love that, _I think in amusement, before I begin to wave excitedly at the cameras. Upon seeing me, many of the people in the crowd appear to try to smile back, apparently my spirit can be rather infectious despite the circumstances. If I can make them feel a little happier, or just a little more at ease, then I'm satisfied with that.

Esther and I take our seats as the Mayor introduces us by name, addressing the fact that we are sister Victor's, which has always held a rather favorable attribute for District 5, at least in the eyes of the Capitol. Who were the last Victor siblings? Cashmere and Gloss from District 1? That was a while ago now, but it goes to show how incredibly rare blood-related Victor's are.

"Oh great, here she comes," I hear Esther mutter under her breath. I know exactly whom she is referring to as well, and sure enough, when I glance to the archway of the Justice Building door, I spot her as she awaits her introduction.

"Come on . . . she is not that bad," I attempt to stand up for the woman. Esther shoots me a doubtful look, before making a tsk with her teeth.

"She couldn't even remember your name when you were a tribute, she's as dumb as shit," she folds her arms, sounding particularly bitter.

"Yes, I remember, she was focused a lot more on Raydon. However, to be fair you were focused completely on me," I challenge her. She huffs, before leaning back in her seat.

"Duh, I had to make sure it was you that came back. Raydon was busy chatting her up anyway," she frowns, motioning towards our Escort. This wasn't exactly true - Raydon, who was my District partner - he tried to get help from Esther, but she was too distracted to focus on him as well. So poor Raydon had to put up with the flirtatious and wildly unprofessional advances of our rather dim-witted Escort, Azalea Springwind.

I felt bad for Raydon, but at the time, I had to focus on myself, and unfortunately he fell victim to the Hunger Games. I believe Azalea accidentally revealed that Esther held a bias when mentoring that year, and ultimately cost her the position of mentor once I had been settled into the role. I don't think Esther minds not having to mentor, but she certainly still holds a grudge towards Azalea.

Speaking of the devil, as soon as the Mayor refers to her by name, she springs into action, swaying her hips as she makes a beeline for the center of the stage. Her curvaceous body is enviously stunning, whilst her sandy blond ringlets with streaks of blue, fall down to her lower back. Her face is caked with makeup, which she doesn't really need, considering how pretty she is naturally, however she still does it to make it colorful with hues of tiffany blue, her favorite color.

Azalea is known to many people for supposedly being the 'slut' of the Escorts. I hate using the word, but she embellishes the actions synonymous with the term. I've heard she likes adding male tributes to her long list of lays; it must be some kind of fetish that she really enjoys. From the years I've worked with her as a Mentor, I can confidently say that she at least shows interest in doing that; how far she gets is not something I tend to find out.

She giggles as she gets to the microphone, before beginning her introduction. I smirk as Esther grimaces at her high pitched giggle, an undeniably ear-splitting sound to be specific.

"Oh my goodness District 5! Has it already been a year since I've been here?" Azalea gasps to the crowd, who stare up at her emotionless.

"I'm so glad to be seeing you again, you all look wonderful!" She exclaims, glancing around with a beaming smile. She makes eye contact with me, causing her to smile even more.

"Hi Ceres! I missed you!" She squeals, waving vigorously at me. I smile back at her, waving politely as the cameras once again find me. They don't linger however, as Azalea begins to speak about selecting a tribute.

"Doesn't remember my name huh?" I mutter to Esther with a chuckle, causing her to fold her arms.

"It doesn't count, she's had eight years to learn it by now," she snorts. "Plus, I said 'when you were a tribute', didn't I?" Perhaps Esther is right, but regardless, she makes it easy for me to push her buttons like the annoying younger sister I can be.

"Well, without further ado, I think it's about time we select our lucky two tributes, starting off with the girls!" Azalea cries out, as she grabs a slip of paper from the female bowl. Despite it being years since my name had the possibility of coming out of that Reaping bowl, I still find myself holding my breath before any name is announced. My chest usually becomes tight and tingly, as if it knows something tragic is about to happen. This year is no exception, as I shift uncomfortably in my seat whilst I watch Azalea unfold the poor tributes name.

"Here we go, lets hope for the best," I breathe, closing my eyes for a second before paying my full attention to Azalea. Esther doesn't respond, as she too is fixated on Azalea as she opens her mouth to announce the name.

"The female tribute for District 5 this year, will be - oh god, I hope I say this correctly - Yelena Latsov! Wait no, _Lantsov_! Yelena Lantsov!"

"Idiot," Esther mutters under her breath, however I'm too focused on locating where Yelena is in the crowd to care. It's one of the worst parts of the Reaping, waiting to see who exactly has been condemned to death this year. It's one thing hearing a name, however when you see the person who will most likely be dead within the next week or so, it's a whole other ball game.

It only takes a few moments for Yelena to make herself known, with people shuffling out of the way within the eighteen year-old section. I feel a small amount of relief, knowing that an innocent twelve year-old has not been chosen. Not to say that Yelena isn't innocent, I'm sure she's a lovely girl, but twelve year-old tributes are much more difficult to work with . . . and to watch die.

A few seconds pass, and Yelena is at the front of the crowd, giving everyone their first glimpse of one of this years District 5 tributes. The first thing I notice about Yelena is that she's rather tall for a girl, if I had to guess it would be around 5'10", and awfully skinny which is unsurprising as many in District 5 are. Her face is quite round; with eyes the color of honey, and a nicely structured nose that is accompanied by a brush of dispersed freckles. I notice that behind the trembling of her full pink lips, a set of perfect whites form an attempt at a confident, happy smile. I know it's not genuine, I've seen my fair share of fake smiles, but I can't blame her for trying.

She steps forward slowly, still appearing to be coming to terms with what has happened, and with every slow step, her bob cut hair sways just below her chin. The color of it is a nice, light brown that compliments her eyes, all in all making her appearance rather pretty. Her pale face has flushed with color, a red that suggests she is rather nervous from the ordeal.

_It happens to the best of us, _I think sympathetically.

When she gets up to the stage, she stands beside Azalea as she glances around, clearly not knowing where to look. Azalea clears her throat, getting ready to speak to Yelena.

"Yelena dear, I'm so sorry about how I read out your name, was I correct in how I pronounced it?" Azalea questions.

"Yeah, you said it correctly. It's not a commonly found name or surname anymore, it comes from before the disasters," Yelena pipes up, rather confidently. I raise an eyebrow, not really expecting this from her. I initially expected her to be reserved, and quiet, but she gives off the vibe of a chatterbox, sort of like . . . me.

"Ooh, very unique! Now Yelena, how does it feel to be representing District 5 in the 99th Hunger Games?" Azalea continues. Yelena doesn't hold back.

"Not too great to be honest, the odds of me coming back are really low so I'm not feeling the best about it right now," she sighs. Seconds later, Yelena's eyes widen slightly, appearing to only just realize what she said.

"Uhh, but . . . that has the potential to change! I think with a little bit of training I'll be right as rain, and I feel honored to be competing for the Capitol," Yelena beams, a stark contrast from the way she was a moment ago. If I didn't know any better, it would seem like she's the type of person to talk before thinking. That could cause some problems; she could overstep unspoken boundaries that result in repercussions. What she said just before already wouldn't put her in a favorable light with the Capitol audience, they hate a tribute that lacks passion and excitement, and the Gamemakers aren't likely to be fond of a tribute that voices their distaste for being apart of the Games.

Azalea - despite sometimes being air headed - seems to understand the hiccup that Yelena just made, so she attempts to pass it off as if it was nothing.

"Of course darling! I have no doubt that you'll be someone to watch out for in the arena! You won't be alone though, because now we must find out who will be joining you in there!" Azalea exclaims, before heading towards the male bowl.

Esther leans towards me, eyes trained on Yelena.

"If she has more slip-up's like that, I feel as if her days are numbered," she warns me, to which I nod in response.

"I'm well aware of that, I'll chat to her on the train and hope I can get through to her," I sigh.

"Shush, she's about to reap the next tribute," Esther replies in a hushed voice, causing me to roll my eyes. Azalea grabs the first slip of paper she gets her hands on, proceeding to take it back to the center of the stage and open it up. Now, for the moment of truth.

"The male tribute for District 5 this year shall be . . . Conduit Warway!"

The reaction is immediate, an agonizing wail that emits from the twelve year-old section. Everyone I can see visibly winces; Esther grimaces at the reaction whilst Azalea looks rather bewildered, likely not expecting anything of the sorts. I myself feel numb; the same dread spreading through me as the other times I've had to mentor a twelve year-old.

"No, not again," I whisper, lowering my head in order to conceal my displeasure. However, as I do so, something happens that nobody expected.

"I volunteer for him."

People audibly gasp, as my own head looks up in frenzy. District 5 hasn't had a volunteer in years; they're incredibly rare to have here, yet here we are with our first volunteer in decades. The voice sounded strangely young - which I wouldn't expect from a volunteer - whilst having a rather monotonous tone to it. It was flat, lifeless, but spoken all the same.

"What? I'm so confused right now," Esther whispers, sounding quite troubled.

"I'm in shock, who the hell would volunteer?" I gasp.

"I'm not sure, but at least they saved that twelve year-old," she replies. I turn my attention to the crowd of teenagers, before seeing the person who volunteered now at the front of the fourteen year-old section. That would explain why the voice sounded so young; he isn't even that much older than twelve himself! However, I have to hold back a gasp when I see the boy, as his appearance is incredibly . . . unique.

He stands a little shorter than Yelena - likely due to his age - standing a little hunched over and disturbingly malnourished. His skin looks as if it hasn't seen the sun in his entire lifetime, it's a ghostly white that looks like chalk, he almost appears as if he is sickly yet he appears to be perfectly healthy aside from his skinny physique. His hollow eyes are amber brown in color, looking almost black in contrast to the white of his skin, whilst the rest of his face is blank and expressionless. He doesn't look confident, scared, happy, in fact it's scary how stony faced he is. Perhaps the most unique thing about him is his hair, it's almost the exact same white as his skin, a snowy white that has sporadic streaks of black throughout. It appears disheveled, and unkempt, having a straw like texture to it.

It appears to be natural somehow, it's not albinism - but his hair certainly isn't dyed as this boy looks dirt poor, and to dye ones hair is a luxury within District 5. Perhaps he was born with it, or maybe he has some sort of condition that changes the color of his hair? That's the more likely scenario, considering the black streaks throughout his hair, which could have been the original color.

"What on earth? He looks . . . why would he want to volunteer?" Esther questions.

"I guess we just have to wait and find out," I respond. The boy slowly makes his way up the stairs, allowing me to see him even better. His wrists have scars along them, not self-harm from what I can tell, but deep incisions that have long since been stitched up. I notice a few more around the visible parts of his body, such as his neck, ankle, and he top of his hands. This boy is a complete enigma.

"Well hello there, congratulations on becoming District 5's newest tribute, and their first volunteer in years! What's your name, er . . . mister?" Azalea questions, sounding rather befuddled. I can't help but feel the urge to smirk, knowing Azalea is quite put off by his appearance. Usually if we have a 'cute' male tribute Reaped, she'll call them names like 'cutie', 'handsome', or even in some cases 'sexy'. When Azalea is calling someone 'mister', it's clear that she's not interested.

"Aww, you can't bring yourself to sleep with this one huh Azalea?" Esther whispers with satisfaction. The boy shuffles towards her before looking out at the crowd.

"My name, is Slane Ampersand," the boy informs the crowd, his fists clenched by his side in almost a determined manner.

"Well Slane, what you've done was very selfless, volunteering for that young boy, would you care to share what your reasoning was?" Azalea asks, even looking quite intrigued herself. Slane doesn't crack an expression from her question; he simply looks over at the twelve year-old section, where the boy was Reaped.

"Truthfully, I didn't do it for him. I don't even know who that was. He can just consider himself lucky that I chose to enter the Hunger Games this year," he replies chillingly. The audience is quiet, as is both Esther and I. I don't even know what to make of his response, if he didn't volunteer to save the kid, then what was his reasoning?

"Oh I see! So what was your reasoning then Slane?"

"I have some goals I want to achieve, some things I need to experience. I can only do said things freely within the Hunger Games, and I'm not about to wait four years until I'm eighteen when I can simply do it now," he informs everyone, stepping back from the microphone to signify he is done with speaking. Goals, achievements and experiences? What the hell is up with this kid? The only things one can get in those categories through the Hunger Games, are negative and traumatic results.

Azalea too seems thoroughly disturbed, leading her to be rather eager to wrap things up.

"Well that's great to hear Slane, and I do hope you . . . achieve, your goals. Now as a traditional sign of good sportsmanship, I'll have you meet Yelena here," Azalea utters, leading Yelena over to Slane so she herself doesn't have to touch him. Yelena, as bold as she appears to be, sticks her hand out to be shaken, although rather cautiously. Slane takes her hand, giving it one simple shake before letting go and turning back the crowd. Yelena subtly wipes her hand on her clothes, likely quite repulsed by how strange Slane appears to be.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our two District 5 tributes for the 99th Hunger Games - Yelena Lantsov, and Slane Ampersand!" Azalea announces. The claps from the crowd aren't very plentiful, with people mainly just muttering to one another. The Peacekeepers surround both Yelena and Slane, before the Mayor steps up to the microphone to end the Reaping and dismiss the crowd.

Esther glances at me, looking quite unsure as a result of the Reaping. I smile at her to ease her stress, before embracing her in a hug and squeezing her tightly.

"See you in a few weeks sis, you behave yourself when I'm gone," I laugh, winking at her once our hug concludes.

"Ceres, are you sure you don't want me coming along? I'm not getting good vibes from that Slane kid," she inquires, a hint of concern in her voice. I chuckle, shaking my head in reassurance.

"I'll be fine, plus, you don't want to third wheel Newton and I right?" I confirm, poking her. She rubs the spot on her arm that I poked, shaking her own head now.

"I couldn't think of anything worse - plus I think Newton is scared of me," she jokes as we make our way off the stage and towards the cars.

"Nooo, of course he isn't," I giggle in response. Esther eyes me with a doubtful glance, causing me to relent.

". . . Okay maybe just a little."

For the first time today, I see Esther crack a smirk.

* * *

**Bullrod 'Bullet' Stevens**

**~27~**

**District 6**

_**Victor of the 88th Hunger Games**_

* * *

The sounds of the voices are fairly distant, all gathering within the lobby entrance of the Justice Building. As I lean my back against the doorframe, I listen as they gather, speaking to one another whilst waiting for the Reaping to begin. They all seem distracted, that should work in my favor.

The shakes have begun, they started on the way to the Justice Building but the damn streets were too crowded. It doesn't help that literally _everyone _watched me as I passed, it's hard to blame them because I'm one of the few recognizable figures that District 6 has to offer, but in hindsight I should have taken the back streets.

_No, you know why you took the main route. It worked exactly how you intended it to._

This is true; I did opt to go the high traffic way of the Town Square, for a very specific reason as well. It's not as if I risked anything by going that way, people may recognize me as a Victor, but generally the District 6 people treat me like another person for the most part, which is nice. I can't go for a stroll by myself in the Capitol because I get swarmed - like every other Victor - but at least home feels like home.

Regardless, I had my reasoning for going the highly populated route, whilst everyone was walking towards the Town Square. I needed to make sure I wasn't alone, so that I wouldn't step out of line, so that I wouldn't be tempted whilst everyone can see me. It worked in my favor for that duration, but now, here I am as I wait for the Reaping to begin. Secluded by myself in an empty meeting room, knowing for a fact that nobody knows exactly where I am, and that very likely most aren't actively looking for me.

"It's now or never Bullrod," I mutter to myself, slowly closing the door in order to make as little sound as possible. I really didn't want to do this - but I just can't help myself. It almost feels like I need to do it, I mean, I don't understand how the other Victor's don't do it themselves. How do they cope getting through the Reaping completely aware of their surroundings? Of the bitter, sodden crowd? The cruel moment two kids are snatched away from their home to essentially be killed? These moments are horrific, yet despite that fact, most are somehow able to cope with them quite effectively.

_You should be able to as well, but you're weak._

There's no doubt about that. My will power is nonexistent; my desires are all polluted with one thing on my mind. It's as if the only thing that matters to me nowadays, is this filthy addiction.

_And you're going to feed that addiction aren't you Bullrod?_

No! . . . Yes . . . ugh I don't know anymore! I turn angrily to the table that centers the room, ripping a chair out from underneath and slamming it on the ground so that I have access to sit in it. My shaking begins to double, as I urge myself to relax. I know one way I can relax, that I can make the shakes stop, but it'll only cause them to start up again within several hours.

"Detox, detox, I just need to detox. The longer I go, the easier it'll become, right?" I whisper, my arms trembling as my fingers tap erratically on the oak table.

_You know that's not true, just give up already. You'll feel better when you do._

I slam my fist angrily against the table, subtly reminding myself of when Romulus did the same out of his frustration against Caroline Snow. I'll feel better, but only for a bit. When I sober up again, when the come down begins, I'll feel just as shit as every other time, tell myself never again, and do it again on the train ride later tonight.

It's a cycle, repetition that needs to be broken, but I just can't seem to bring myself to do it. It's almost at the point where I do it just because 'why not?' I don't even always get the same experience, but somehow it always feels better than being apart of this shitty reality.

"So why not? Why shouldn't I do it?" I question out loud, feeling in my pants pocket for the plastic zip-lock bag. I drop it on the table, eyeing the syringe inside, alongside the little bottle of golden liquid. I stare at it almost in a trance, hearing its call for me as I bite my lower lip, drawing blood in the process.

"It wants me, and I want it," I breathe through my teeth, shakily opening the bag. This won't be as bad as I'm making it out to be, there's nothing wrong with morphling, in fact it's only designed to help! Yeah . . . help, with my trauma of course.

Why shouldn't I take another hit? It's not like anyone cares about me anyways, who am I stopping for other than myself? This will just be a small dose, just so I can get through the Reaping peacefully and carefree. Nobody has to know, nobody has to judge, it'll be my little secret.

I chuckle softly to myself as I dip the tip of the syringe into the morphling, drawing back the end so that the liquid gold fills the clear glass vial of the syringe. I stare at it for a moment, watching the bubbles that form from the movement, as my body shakes in anticipation for its latest hit.

_Go on you piece of shit. Inject it. Feel the euphoria._

I am a piece of shit, I don't deserve the greatness that it makes me feel, but I'm not about to pass up on it now that it's right in front of me. I take the belt off of my pants, wrapping it around my left bicep and tightening it. I begin smiling erratically, ready to feel that sweet release as I raise the needle to my arm.

Suddenly, I yelp loudly in surprise. Not because of the pain from injecting the needle, as I haven't even done so yet, but because of the loud bang the door makes when it flies open. I spin around with wide eyes, caught like a deer in headlights. A girl stands in the doorway, hands on her hips as she stands expectantly. Her heart shaped face holds full pink lips held in a frown, alongside azure blue eyes that stare at me in relief. Her long black hair sways in waves, whilst her neatly arranged bangs cover her forehead, barely grazing her elongated lashes. Her body is admittedly stunning; it's curvaceous and proud as she stands with her traditional aura of confidence. This girl is all to familiar with me, and if anyone was going to try and find me before the Reaping, it was her.

"There you are! - What are you doing?" The girls stern voice questions, causing me to cower in shame.

"H-hey there, Anastasia, what's new with you?" I ask, at a complete loss for an explanation. Anastasia Kingsley, Victor of the 97th Hunger Games, and who _should _be mentoring this year. Anastasia won two years ago, the year before Romulus, and although she should have taken over my mentor role, the Hunger Games Committee still decided to make me the mentor. Why would they do that? I have no idea. It's not like I've had any extreme success, in fact I've been a rather lackluster mentor over the years. I was always a lone wolf during the Games, I'm not good at instructing other people and assisting them.

Anastasia was an outlier, a very talented killing machine who the Capitol just adored. Quite the stark contrast to who I was as a tribute, Anastasia hunted with the Careers, dominated her fights with unparalleled skill. She made the Careers slaughter each other whilst they were all hallucinating on a drug thanks to her doing. What did I do? I ran for my life, and outsmarted a few dumb tributes. Every other District 6 tribute I've had to mentor has been tragically appalling, so in the grand scheme of things, Anastasia wasn't the lucky one, I was the lucky one.

Nowadays, she's my crutch, she's the one that actually tries to help me, she's probably half the reason I haven't overdosed on morphling over the past two years. So again I have to question, why isn't she mentoring this year? She would be perfect for the role, in fact I know she is. She did a great job last year when I was teaching her, I barely even needed to do anything, she caught on quite quickly. Our tributes didn't win of course, Romulus won instead, but they made it relatively far for District 6 tributes. The past two years have been impressive for us, all thanks to Anastasia.

Deep down, I think I know the reason they are getting me to mentor again this year. It's all in the hopes that the responsibility will get me to quit morphling. It's not really fair on the tributes that are Reaped, having them stuck with me and all, so that's why Anastasia will be coming to the Capitol this year. Not only for that, but to also keep an eye on me, just like she is now. Her eyes glare like a mother who's child has misbehaved, as I sheepishly place down the morphling onto the table.

She strides in without a word, before taking the morphling away and pocketing it. After this she proceeds to slap me lightly across the face.

"Ow, what the hell?" I cry out in surprise. It didn't particularly hurt, but it most certainly took me by surprise.

"Bullet, what have we discussed? If I catch you doing this, I get to slap you," she lectures me, shaking her head in disappointment.

"You wanted to punch me originally," I grumble, rubbing the cheek that she struck. She can't help but smirk a little, despite trying to hide it.

"Yeah but you insisted on a slap. So a slap is what I'll give," she tilts her head, folding her arms as she stands in front of me.

"Can't argue with that," I mumble sarcastically. She huffs, almost laughing with disbelief.

"Oh no, you're not making me out to be the villain here. Can't you see you're hurting yourself?" She questions, kneeling down to get eye level with me.

"Says the one who just slapped me," I cry out. She scoffs at my words, not being able to hold back a giggle.

"It's tough love! Come on, you're a big strong Victor, surely you can handle a slap?"

"I'm not strong," I sigh, lowering my eyes to ground. "I'm weak, how can I be strong when I give in to that temptation so easily?"

My words pack a punch, a big dose of reality embedded within them. As feisty and bossy as Anastasia can be, at this moment, she's silent as she watches me wallow in self pity. I must look pathetic, how did I ever win the Hunger Games? Now, I'm just a drug addicted slime-ball. I wouldn't be surprised if she stares at me in disgust, I'm really not worth her time, I'm not even sure why she's done this much to help me so far.

When I feebly glance up to meet her gaze, it's one of sympathy that stares back. It's not something I've often seen from Anastasia, I watched her during the Hunger Games in a drug-addled state, but I could recognise the focus, and ruthlessness on her expression whenever she dealt a killing blow to another tribute. She was always the type to not let emotions cloud her judgment, she considered it to be a weakness during the Games, and as a result I never really considered the concept that she was just like everyone else, with hopes, dreams, aspirations, and especially emotions.

I look back in shame at the time spent as her mentor, as in all honesty I did very little to help. We never saw eye to eye that year, she was rather rude at the time and I just didn't have a fuck to give. I did the bare minimal to help during her Games, never really spoiling either her or her District Partner with sponsor gifts, yet against the odds she persevered.

It was during last years Hunger Games when we really grew close. She saw a side of me she hadn't seen before; the vulnerable, desperate, hopeless side. She had a vague idea beforehand, but during the 98th Hunger Games, she finally came to understand how bad it was, which nobody had done before. She became kinder, more empathetic, and as a result I grew fond of her.

I believe Anastasia is the reason I'm mentoring again this year. She was likely the one who requested it to Alabaster Welltree, who I assume looked into my case and discovered how bad my addiction was. I'm sure the only others who would know would likely be Caroline Snow, she would have to be notified as she is the President of Panem. Otherwise, my addiction would be kept under wraps, the higher officials would hate for it to get out that an 'iconic' Victor is a crippling drug addict.

Now that I'm a mentor again, I can't refuse to come to the Capitol. I have to go as it is mandatory for me, and that way I can keep 'distracted' by mentoring these future tributes, not to mention that Anastasia can come along and keep an eye on me. It's rather belittling when I think about it, to the point where it feels like I'm just being babied. How did it get to this point? Where I can't even be trusted on my own to keep my temptations in check?

"Hey . . . don't say that. Of course you're strong, you managed to make it home just like the rest of us. That's strong in my book," Anastasia speaks up, sitting on a chair beside me as she attempts to console my depleted spirits.

"It's too hard Anastasia, every time I think I'm getting over my cravings, they just hit me harder than before," I mutter bitterly, punching my open palm to emphasise it's power.

"Look at me Bullet, look into my eyes," she responds, taking my cheeks in her palms and facing my face towards hers. My eyes dart around a few times, before finally giving in and staring into her own electrifying blue ones. Their set in an aura of seriousness, nothing else seeming to be on her mind.

"Do you want to get better?" Anastasia asks softly, slowly saying each word so that I understand her clearly.

"What?"

"It's a simple question Bullet, would you like to beat this addiction? Do you live a life free of morphling?" She repeats herself. It's such a straightforward question, yet the answers in my mind are so convoluted. I feel myself beginning to sweat, an impatient stirring in my chest begins as my eyes break connection with Anastasia's, and focus on the bottle of morphling that is still in the zip lock bag.

"Eyes on mine Bullet," Anastasia commands, causing me to jolt slightly before looking back at her. "The less you look at it the less you'll be tempted by it . . . now answer me."

I take a deep breath, pushing the thoughts of morphling from my mind.

"Yes, I want to leave it behind," I whisper. Anastasia smiles at me, releasing my cheeks and patting me on the shoulder.

"Good, now stay still, it'll make this easier."

My eyes widen at her words, my mind not really getting much time to process them.

"Wait what?"

Before I can do anything, I'm tackled to the ground by Anastasia. My reflexes not quite being what they used to, going up against a young, energetic Victor from two years ago, I am in no way able to prevent her from pinning me to the ground, with my face against the red carpet and my wrists pushed behind me against my back.

"What in the hell are you doing Anastasia?" I cry out, still shocked by the sudden events.

"Settle down, this is for your benefit. You want to get better, and I truly believe that, but clearly you can't do this on your own," she huffs, as she feels around the side of my pants.

"Is this necessary?" I growl through gritted teeth, struggling to shake her off as she gets closer to my pocket.

"Were you willingly going to hand this over?" She fires back, holding my wallet up triumphantly.

"Oh so you're robbing me now?" I spit.

"What kind of thieving junkies have you been hanging around? Of course not, I'm just cutting off your spending. Now you can only make purchases through me!" She grins wildly. Suddenly, her expression becomes surprised, as she rubs her hand against the contents of my other pocket. Her forehead furrows in confusion, as she feels it up more to guess what it might be.

"Ooh, what the hell is this?" She questions. My eyes widen as I realise what she is about to discover. Shit, this isn't good.

"No, nothing don't look there!" I demand in a panicked tone. Anastasia of course ignores this, reaching into the other pocket and grabbing the cylindrical object. She pulls it out, despite my protests, before holding up my reserve stash of morphling. The vial is also contained in a crumpled zip lock bag, and is a lot more of a phallic shape than the other larger bottle.

"Bullet . . . how much of this stuff do you have?" She asks softly, concern heavy in her tone.

"None, because you just took it all," I reply bluntly. She shakes her head, before pocketing the vial and getting off of my back.

"I hope that was all of it," she sighs, before helping me up. We both begin to hear noise from outside the building, causing us to look through the window. The Reaping looks as if it is starting up, with our Mayor - Mayor Bentley - on the stage introducing the ceremony with the same Capitol propaganda videos played at the start of every Reaping.

"Let's go, we're about to go out there," Anastasia motions, before she leads the two of us out of the door and into the entrance room of the Justice Building. Great, this is just what I need, to go out there completely sober. I haven't had to do that in roughly ten years, I couldn't bare to do so after I got through the first Reaping after my victory. Yet here I am, exiting the building, walking up the steps to the stage, completely aware of my rather pitiful surroundings.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I truly notice how many eyes are on me. In the past, I've never really grasped just how many people were watching, how many people were observing me as I breezed on through without a care in the world. I'm sure I even looked happy, not remorseful as I should when two kids are being condemned to death.

"This is for the best Bullrod, just push through it, it'll be over soon," I encourage myself, voice so soft that only I could hear it. I need to look attentive, I need to show that I'm willing to change, that I'm taking the steps to being a better person for myself. I glance at the Mayor, who himself glances at me with a look of apprehension. This quickly shifts to surprise when I return his gaze, apparently more responsive than I have been in the past. He turns quickly back to the crowd, motioning towards both Anastasia and I.

"And last but certainly not least, a warm welcome please for Bullet Stevens, and Anastasia Kingsley, respective Victors of the 88th and 97th Hunger Games!" Mayor Bentley exclaims, earning a surprisingly decent amount of applause in response. Anastasia waves happily to the crowd, with myself trying to replicate what she does as I honestly have no idea as to how I should respond. We both sit down, with my eyes being drawn to the two glass bowls filled with unfortunate teenagers. Thank god my name can no longer be on there, I would probably have a full blown panick attack in my current state.

"Alyss is probably going to be quite surprised by your change this year," Anastasia murmurs as she watches the side of the stage.

"Who?" I question. The name rings a bell, but I'm often forgetful with people's names considering I'm not fully attentive most of the time. Anastasia rolls her eyes, before subtly pointing to the side of the stage that we just came from. Waiting at the bottom of the stairs, is a young woman with vibrant crimson hair that falls in waves down to the arch of her back. Her eyes are more of an amber orange in color, whilst her skin is relatively fair in complexion, her lips being coated a bright red to match her hair. Her cheeks have a few stray orange autumn leaves painted on, appearing to be flowing through the air on a gust of wind, it's actually a pretty cool style choice, not one that I seem to have noticed before on this Alyss person.

"Alyss Fallbeck, our new Escort. She started only a few years ago," Anastasia explains.

"That would explain why I don't remember her," I chuckle. Anastasia shoots me a look of disgust.

"That shouldn't be a reason not to know her name. It's been a few years since you were first introduced!" She exclaims in a hushed voice.

"Anastasia, I don't think you understand how high I was those years during the Hunger Games. My aim was to block them out, and everything to do with it. I vaguely recognise her, but I didn't learn her name, she's all apart of what I want nothing to do with," I point out, folding my arms as I watch her.

"Alyss is actually really nice I'll have you know, at least make an effort this year, okay?" Anastasia requests. I nod my head, looking away from Alyss as she's introduced to the stage.

"Whatever," I grunt.

"Hello District 6! Another year has passed and here we are again," Alyss speaks up, now standing in the middle of the stage. "Today is the day that we will be selecting yet another young man and woman, to fight for glory within the 99th Annual Hunger Games!"

I always have wondered how the Escorts feel about doing this year after year, being the ones to ultimately seal two peoples fates every year in a matter of life and death. You can tell from seeing some of the other Districts Escorts, that some really have come to love the Games, and the importance that their role has. I'm sure some of them were avid fans to begin with before they even landed their job. As I watch Alyss now, it's hard to see how she feels about it. She seems like she's in happy spirits, to many I'm sure she would seem like she's delighted to be doing what she's doing. However, for all I know she could just be being polite, doing what she must for the sake of her income. I've never really given the Escorts of District 6 a chance, hell the one I had during my Hungr Games was dreadful - but maybe I should give Alyss a chance, especially if I'm going to be working properly with her from now on.

"We have had a successful run the past few years, of course with our very lovely Anastasia Kingsley pulling the victory only two years ago!" Alyss continues, turning her head to glance at Anastasia and flashing her a smile, to which Anastasia returns politely.

"So now, it's about time we find out who could be following up in that effort, and hopefully adding to the reign of success!"

With no further words, Alyss makes her way over to the first bowl of name slips; the female one to be exact. She takes a moment to look within the bowl, before digging her hand deep inside, with it re-emerging with a singular slip of paper grasped within her manicured fingers. It's only now, being completely stone cold sober, that I fully realise just how quiet the Reaping is. I had forgotten over the years how suspenseful the name reading was, just how little you could hear, other than the soft sound of the wind in your ears.

I begin tapping my knee restlessly, trying to distract myself from the grim atmosphere. Alyss passes by me, close enough for me to get a whiff of her sweet perfume, as she steps back up to the microphone unfolding the piece of paper. The perfume is strangely comforting, and suddenly, I feel quite relaxed. I release a small sigh of relief, causing Anastasia to glance at me with a look of confusion. I don't give her any attention though, my focus is entirely on Alyss, and her alluring scent.

"The first tribute for District 6, partaking in the 99th Hunger Games, will be - Lucille Fforde!"

If I'm being honest, I have no idea what to expect. I'm sure a lot of Reaped tributes breakdown, release their despair, struggle to come to terms with the fact that they're a tribute. When I was Reaped, I was too shocked to react like that, everything was a blur to me at the time. When I had to rewatch the whole process at the Victor Ceremony, I rewatched my Reaping for the first time, and I discovered that I had been silent as I staggered up to the stage.

At the moment, Lucille seems to be doing a relatively similar thing, as I haven't heard a sound since her name was called. There is a lack of movement at first, probably as she gathers her thoughts and realises she has to go, before ultimately I begin to see people shift around in the sixteen year-old section. Strangely enough, once that happens, Lucille is at the front quicker than I could have imagined. I see her in the flesh for what I would think is the first time, but there's something about her that causes me to have a vague recollection of who she is.

"Hey . . . I think I know her -"

My eyes widen as I remember where I know her from, but it's too late to take back my words. Anastasia glances at me curiously, her head cocked to the side as she awaits elaboration.

My eyes refuse to look at Anastasia, remaining trained on Lucille, and properly observing what she looks like. She is rather slender in appearance, although developed in her womanly areas, with particularly pale skin that rivals my own. Her thin blonde hair falls straight down to her back, lacking any real volume and swaying easily with movement as there isn't much resistance. Her general appearance is rather delicate, she almost seems fragile, and I know exactly why.

She has high cheekbones, appearing rather pink compared to the rest of her skin, whilst her chin is sharp alongside her jaw. Her eyes are brown and doe-eyed, framed by thick lashes that bring out her femininity. I notice her lips are full, but slightly chapped, not really pulled into a frown, but rather a subtle smile.

Lucille glides on the balls of her feet, moving rather quickly through the crowd and to the stairs. Her eyes are lowered, not really appearing to be looking at her surroundings, or at any of the cameras. It's as if she has very little interest in giving anything her attention. The way she holds herself when she walks is also rather peculiar, folding her arms as if she is cold . . . or trying to hide herself.

All of this seems to suggest that she's trying to be as unnoticeable as possible, but it comes really naturally as if she does this all the time. The only things that seems out of place is the smile that she lets creep onto her face every once in a while. It isn't a morbid smile, but more a relieved smile. Knowing who Lucille is, I can pinpoint exactly why she would be giving that smile.

"So are you going to mention how you know her?" Anastasia speaks up, folding her arms with an eyebrow raised.

"I don't _know _her, I know _of_ her . . . I should have phrased it better," I reply.

"Yeah but how?"

"She works for a guy that supplied me with morphling, her and a whole group of girls. You may have heard of the bar she works at," I whisper.

"What bar?" Anastasia questions, looking at me with an aura of dread. I bite my lips as I glance away from her; I get the feeling she already knows.

"The Doll House," I sigh, causing Anastasia to raise her hands to her mouth in horror.

"B-but - she's sixteen!" She whispers, sounding absolutely mortified.

"That's not as young as it gets in that place," I mutter bitterly, turning my attention back to Lucille. I imagine Lucille had no say in being apart of the Doll House syndicate, none of the girls that work there would. Each event is held at a new location to keep the Peacekeepers far out of the loop, I've only ever gone there to pick up my morphling and go. I remember a night when the ringleader, a man named Charlus Royce, actually offered me a night with Lucille back when she was slightly younger. I left in disgust, but never reported it like I should have. All because I was cowardly, and I didn't want my drug sources cut off from me.

Now here I am, with the same girl being put into my responsibility, this time over a life or death matter. As Lucille reaches the spot beside Alyss, she doesn't do so much as look down at the ground, still holding herself in a rather feeble manner.

"Congratulations Lucille, you're now a tribute in the Hunger Games!" Alyss gushes, trying to liven up the scenario.

"Thanks . . . I suppose," Lucille responds, her voice rather husky and cute.

"Do you have any thoughts on this turn of events? What's going on through your mind right now?" Alyss questions. The small smile returns once again to Lucille's face, as she glances up for the first time.

"You know what? I'm happy to be leaving this place. My life here hasn't been very fulfilling anyways, so this will lead me to a better place, regardless of the outcome."

Her words are rather chilling, specifically if you understand the context, but to Alyss, it seems rather optimistic to her.

"That's fantastic Lucille, I'm glad you're ready for such a step! Of course, it isn't just you alone in this contest, because we still have to find out who our second tribute will be District 6!" She announces, before now making her way over to the second bowl of names; this time full of the males.

Is it because this hits a little closer to home? The fact that she's about to choose the male tribute? The tingling down my spine has a cause, and that's likely the reason. I get a flashback of myself standing in the crowd, waiting in silent horror as the Escort was about to say my name. The memories aren't very strong, but they are there nonetheless. I find myself shuddering as Alyss selects a paper slip, this time right off of the top of the pile, before taking it back to the microphone and reading it out.

_Settle down, you're name can't be chosen, you're gonna be fine, _I scold myself.

"The male tribute accompanying Lucille this year will be . . . Bullrod Stengrad!"

I almost let out a yelp when Alyss reads the name Bullrod, and for a moment I'm completely frozen before I come to realise that it wasn't my name. Even the start of the surname was similar to my own, what are the actual chances of that?

"Fuck, I almost had a heart attack," I gasp breathlessly, Anastasia looking at me rather amused.

"Those were unfortunate odds, no need to frea-"

"I'll go! Let me go instead!"

Both Anastasia and I freeze, her having been cut off by a voice in the crowd. The entire District falls silent, everyone standing shocked as they try to locate the source of the voice. I myself am speechless, still not having grasped what has just happened.

"D-did someone just volunteer?" Anastasia gasps, mouth agape in surprise. In answer to her question, a boy bursts from the fifteen year-old section, hands proudly on his hips. What on earth? This boy looks like a twig!

The boy stands as thin as a rake, his skin pale and sickly underneath the dirt and grime that coats his exposed body. His eyes are rather striking, a confident gaze emitting from his golden amber eyes that almost doesn't seem natural. For his age, he seems rather short, at around 5'5" if I had to guess. His golden eyes are almost concealed by his matted mess of dark brown hair, a muddy shade that matches the grime on his skin. I'm not even entirely sure if that's his natural shade of hair, or if it's just too dirty to tell.

Regardless, this kid looks like he has spent his whole life on the streets, and I would even be surprised if that was the case. Looking at him in this poor state, I almost can't fault him for volunteering, perhaps he is looking for an out, an escape from his poor form of life. If that isn't the reason this wispy kid has volunteered, then I have no idea what his actual reasoning could be.

As he strides up to the stage, resonating a strange sense of confidence, I can't help but admire his spirits. He certainly seems happy with himself, despite how seemingly miserable he should be in the state he is. I watch Alyss step back a little as he reaches the spot next to her, clearly a little repulsed by how filthy he is. Despite this, she too seems completely intrigued as to why this boy is volunteering. District 6 doesn't have too many volunteers, so this is certainly a special occasion.

"Wow, our first volunteer in . . . I'm not actually sure how long! Care to introduce yourself young man?" Alyss questions excitedly, holding the microphone from afar. The boy leans towards the microphone, his hands behind his back with a smile on his face.

"I'm sure many of you know who I am already," the boy grins.

_No, I can't say I do._

"My name of course is Otto Van Meitch, but I shouldn't need an introduction. I'm here to become the one thing that I'm yet to be - a Victor!"

"W-what the hell is happening right now?" Anastasia whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I chose the wrong Reaping to stop being high at," I sigh.

"You would have been high if it weren't for me," Anastasia hisses.

"Yeah, thanks for that," I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes. Anastasia punches my arm, causing me to curse. The two of us turn our attention back to this supposedly 'well-known' Otto Van Meitch. Alyss is trying her hardest to play along with whatever he is saying, but even she has a lost look on her face. She puts a convincing smile on her face as Otto spouts about how wealthy he is and how everyone is there to see him.

Anastasia shakes her head sadly, sighing as she turns to me.

"I think there is something wrong with this kid," she whispers.

"You don't say," I smirk. She doesn't return my smirk, instead she continues to look rather concerned.

"No, I mean . . . mentally. He doesn't seem all there. He's talking about ruling Panem, like he genuinely believes he does. This isn't good."

"Of course it isn't, that's going to be irritating to mentor!" I respond. Anastasia's glare has a sudden flash of anger.

"You're not understanding me Bullet! This could be problematic because the Gamemakers might not be understanding of what he's saying. Even Caroline Snow might find his words concerning, and if that's the case, the chances of him winning are substantially low!" She exclaims. This isn't something I considered, I always forget about the underlining threat of stepping out of line, and if the Capitol finds him rebellious or threatening - even just his personal views - his chances of surviving are very slim. Saying that, is he the tribute I even want to make it home? Out of him and Lucille, in my mind there's clearly someone that deserves better, but I suppose Anastasia is right, I shouldn't be biased, I should want both tributes to do well.

My thoughts are distracted by Alyss cutting Otto off, likely wanting to finish off this weird introduction.

"Thank you so much for your input Otto!" She exclaims, leading Lucille over to Otto so that they're face to face. "I'll just get the two of you to shake hands as District partners for the first time."

Lucille takes Otto's dirty hand, and commendably doesn't flinch at how revolting it may be. Otto himself doesn't seem all that impressed by Lucille's actions, frowning at her as she shakes his hand.

"You should be bowing to royalty you know, I would practice doing that for future interactions with me," he informs Lucille, who stares back at him appearing a little confused, before seemingly shrugging it off. Alyss then steps forward, her hand gesturing towards both Lucille and Otto.

"District 6, these are your two tributes for the 99th Hunger Games . . . Lucille Fforde and Otto Van Meitch!"

The crowd, who still appear just as confused by how the events have unfolded, clap politely as they are at a loss for what else to do. Mayor Bentley steps forward to end the Reaping, whilst Peacekeepers surround Lucille and Otto to direct them to the Justice Building. As they pass us, I hear Otto speak up.

"Ah, this building is a lot more my style, I'll have to move into it when I get back here," he grins, looking at the Justice Building in awe. This kid, is truly a marvel.

I feel movement from Anastasia by my side, causing me to look up at her as she stands. I stand up after her, towering above her with a look of exasperation.

"So how do you feel about these tributes? Do you think I will do alright for my first proper mentor attempt?" I ask.

"Lucille could be interesting, Otto . . . let's cross that bridge when we come to it," she laughs in disbelief. "Come on, we need to get to the train before they do."

Both Anastasia and I exit the stage, heading towards the car port for a ride to the train station. I take one last glance at the mega screen, seeing the replay highlights of the Reaping with both Lucille and Otto on the screen. I sigh, shaking my head as I turn away. I'm going to have my work cut out for me this year.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Wow, so must I even have to mention what's going on in the world? Well first off, hi guys! I'm finally getting out Reaping II, which of course has taken a little longer than the frequency that I was uploading at, but that is because of a few reasons. These chapters are much MUCH longer than my Prologue's, this chapter is no exception being my longest chapter yet! I don't want to rush chapters out, because if I'm not happy with the quality, then I'm not happy with you guys reading it. I want to tell the best story I can, and the time I put into the chapters reflects that. I will always put updates on the progress on my profile, I won't leave you guys in the dark :)**

**Anyways, second reason, that pesky virus of course. Lots of unprecedented changes world wide have occurred, and adjusting to life in lockdown has been both a blessing, and a challenge. Hopefully in the future this gives me more writing opportunities to really get into this story, but for the past few weeks I had to shift my studies online, meaning I didn't have as much time to write as I would have liked. However, here I am, and we can carry on from here!**

**Onto the chapter content, this chapter we met the next six tributes, those being Ophiuchus, Cinder, Slane, Yelena, Otto, and Lucille! We also got to see our next three Mentors more in depth, those three being Amphitrite, Ceres, and Bullet! Some honorable mentions go to the Victor side characters, including the returning Finnick Odair, Esther Powell who is the older sister to Ceres, and Anastasia Kingsley who was the most recent Victor up until Romulus! Please share your thoughts on all these characters as I would love to see what you think of them! **

**Once again, thanks for reading! If any of these tributes belong to you be sure to let me know what you thought of my portrayal of them! I hope to be out with the next chapter sooner rather than later, which will be **_**Reaping III: Wood, Fabrics and Wheat**_**.**

**Stay safe, stay at home, and wash your hands!**

**-Winter**


	8. Reaping III: Wood, Fabrics and Wheat

**Reaping III**

_Wood, Fabrics and Wheat_

* * *

**Rowan Woodstock**

**~30~**

**District 7**

_**Victor of the 86th Hunger Games**_

* * *

The crowd gathers together, huddled outside due to the cool bite of the late morning breeze. It has always been a cooler temperature in District 7; even during the summer we have our cold days. Today isn't an exception, but perhaps it's due to a combination of factors, like the chill of death that steadily approaches for two unlucky individuals that will be reaped today.

I watch groups of families arrive in droves, desperately wanting to avoid the repercussions for being late to a Reaping. Not one has a smile on their face; each one is full of dread and fear, refusing to meet the eyes of other people around them.

"Just as I feel," I mutter, lowering my head, allowing my breaths to be closer to the glass window, and causing it to fog up in the process. I hold my hands behind my back as I watch the outside world, a rather sophisticated pose that I've developed over the years. It always allowed me to stand strong and confident, it's what I wanted to come across as because . . . the alternative was showing how I actually felt. How might that be? It's simple really.

I'm a failure. My one redeeming feat was that I won the Hunger Games, but what good has that done me since? I haven't been successful in bringing home a single tribute; each one has died under my watch. District 7 is meant to be one of the more successful of the Districts; at least in terms of Hunger Games success. Right now, we're in a dry spell. As the years go by, it seems that each tribute that we produce is young, innocent, and vulnerable. I can count on one hand the amount of District 7 tributes that have actually had a chance of making it out, at least since I won the 86th Hunger Games thirteen years ago.

I've had this very discussion before with Amphitrite from Four, we both feel as if our efforts have been in vain. The issue is, I've been trying to do it for longer than she has. It takes a toll on you, watching each tribute under your responsibility succumb to the same fate. Repetition at its worst, and the unfortunate thing is I don't see it changing anytime soon. The other Districts have done much better in recent history than they had prior, there are less Career victories nowadays, which really does show that anyone has the potential to win. It just seems like District 7 always draws the short end of the stick.

_We should be better, _I think bitterly to myself. It's not that I enjoy the Hunger Games, it's not like I want us to partake and thrive in the festivities, but we don't have a choice - I just want to bring home my tributes, my _people._ Considering District 7's field of work, we should be better indeed; we should be near the top of the Districts. Especially compared to the industrial Districts, we have the skill and the labor to surpass them, as well as the nourishment to outlast the poorer, agricultural Districts. I dare say District 7 should be among Districts 1, 2, and 4; one day that will be common knowledge.

Something needs to change, because if the Hunger Games are going to continue - which they most certainly will - then we need to adapt to survive. The same thing will happen each year otherwise, but I'm prepared do what is necessary to make things change.

The question is . . . what? What needs to be done in order to achieve success in this endeavor? I've asked myself this on many occasions, always asking the same thing. Am I the source of the problem? The short answer is no, I can only do so much when it comes to mentoring, I've just been dealt an incredibly unlucky hand year after year. The hand is the problem, the tributes that enter under the District 7 name. Of course, they didn't have a choice in the matter; it wasn't fair on those tributes at all. They were plucked from their homes, forced up against trained warriors from other Districts, when most of these poor tributes were still sixteen or under.

That's what it comes down to however, the tributes themselves. There is an issue that comes with this however; I can't just make sure the tributes we reap are skilled killers that stand a chance. It all comes down to luck, and so far we have none of it.

This year would be the perfect year to have some formidable tributes; at least I would think so. The Careers may not be as strong, considering that they may be saving their best options for the Quarter Quell. Everyone wants a Quarter Quell Victor, and none want one more than the Career Districts. If they have to produce sub-par tributes to sacrifice in order to save their best for next year, they will do so without hesitation. I should know, I did work alongside the Careers after all.

"Knock-knock!" A voice booms as the source bursts into the room. I don't jolt out of surprise at all; in fact I was wondering when it would happen. Johanna does have a habit of entering rooms and conversations by making her presence well and truly known. I hear her steps thud softly against the floor, as she makes her way up to me whilst I continue to stare out of the window.

"How are you today Rowan?" She questions with a cheery tone, before giving me a light slap against my rear. I roll my eyes, having expected her to do such a thing.

"Was that really necessary?" I sigh, rubbing the buttock that she had connected with, causing her to chuckle and put an arm around my shoulder. She too stares out of the window, grinning out of amusement.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have such a perky ass, it's just asking to be slapped," she shrugs, eyeing me playfully. I can't help but crack a smirk, before shaking my head to disguise it.

"Yeah and what if I did that to you, huh?"

"You're more than welcome to!"

"I'll pass, but thanks for the offer," I chuckle, not being able to stifle the grin any longer. Johanna beams at me, before letting me go and stepping back.

"There we are, all happy again," she smiles victoriously, before falling back onto an armchair that rests in the corner. I tilt my head, folding my arms as I turn to face her fully. My smile falters, the reality of today once again crashing down upon me.

"Why would you want to be happy on such a day though? Two of our own are going to be borderline sentenced to death, and again I'm going to have them die under my guidance," I sigh glumly. This doesn't alter Johanna's mood at all, in fact she barely bats an eye. It's almost as if she has some sort of sneaky smile planted on her face. I can't help but produce visible confusion in my expression, not being able to understand why she's so calm and confident about what I mentioned.

"Care to mention why you seem so content about this?" I inquire, causing Johanna to look away in a shifty manner.

"Rowan, I have something to confess," she admits softly, her voice uncharacteristically serious. Confess? What could she possibly have to confess? As far as I know, Johanna is an open book; she doesn't leave much up to imagination, and is very sharing about the going-ons with her life. Whatever this could be must be rather heavy for her.

"What might that be?" I ask; my curiosity piqued. Johanna's eyes meet directly with mine, before she spills her secret.

"The reason I'm not concerned about our people being reaped, is because I've worked it out. I've cracked the code to success, and it's been in front of us all along," she whispers. I raise an eyebrow, not too sure what she's getting at.

"Worked out what Johanna? We can't just magically make our tributes fighters," I point out. She nods her head in agreement.

"No - not unless we had control over who went in to the arena. I've . . . been doing some scouting, and Rowan - there are people out there that want to volunteer!" She says with hushed excitement. I feel my forehead furrow, not completely grasping her words.

"What're you saying? That we find volunteers to enter into the Hunger Games?"

"Not just that, we could start a dynasty, a revolution, we could become the next best thing in the Hunger Games. We could shape fighters, give opportunity to those that actually want to enter, and in the process stop the innocent from being Reaped," Johanna exclaims, a wild glint of excitement in her eyes. I bite my lip; with the words she spouts sinking in, and my understanding beginning to develop.

"So essentially, you want us - our District - to become Careers?" I summarize monotonously. She produces a look of annoyance at my words, huffing as she looks to the side.

"Yeah well when you put it like that, it sounds pretty fucking negative," she mutters defensively.

"But think about it! We coul-"

"I'm in."

Johanna's mouth drops in surprise, clearly not expecting my response to be so accepting. I suppose she suspected she would have to do a whole lot more convincing, but really there is no need. What she has described is the methods of the Careers, and to a degree, it's all-true. Why haven't we done the same yet? It's clearly working for them, are we supposed to die year after year just to uphold some long lost rebel values of dignity?

People have looked upon Careers negatively in the past, but I never did. I respected their methods; hell I _joined _them during my Hunger Games. That being said, we don't have to consider ourselves to be apart of the Career Pack either, being prepared for the Games don't inherently make us one of them. Even if we were to be though, would that really be a bad thing?

District 7 is strong, we are naturally gifted, we can do better, and this might just be how.

"You're right, Johanna. If there really are people out there that _want _to volunteer, than who are we to stop them?" I point out, causing her lips to curl into a smile.

"My thoughts exactly. There's been an underlying passion for the Hunger Games in the various communities of our District. It isn't mainstream, but it's there nonetheless. I think is time we shape that passion, draw out those individuals, and make our tributes forces to be reckoned with," Johanna smiles, with a childish awe to her tone.

"You said you went scouting . . . are you telling me that there are two that you've found willing to volunteer this year?" I question, with excitement bubbling in my chest. Johanna nods her head, as her eyes drift to the crowd outside.

"Yeah, they weren't easy to find, it wasn't like I could just stroll on up to people and encourage them to volunteer. I did receive some tip offs however, about two that had differentiating reasons about considering volunteering. A little push was all it took to convince them," she explains, scratching her chin as she recalls.

"And are they any good?"

"Well look, they haven't been training for the Games like our future tributes will, but their skills are exceptional, enough to send chills through me at least," she shudders, causing my eyes to widen. Johanna Mason of all people, was impressed by what these two volunteers had to show her? Enough to send chills down the fearless woman's back?

"This year has to be it, it has to be!" I mutter pleadingly, pacing back and forth as I consider the opportunity.

"Now hold on, wait until they actually volunteer first before placing judgment. Expectations do nothing but cause stress," she hisses, causing me to pause and breathe deeply.

"You're right, I'll wait until I get a good look at them. Let's go do that," I insist. I grab Johanna by the wrist, dragging her up from the armchair, which causes her to cry out in protest.

"Hey I can walk myself!" She huffs, causing me to chuckle.

"I was just hurrying you up," I shrug. She grumbles a few colorful words aimed at me, before we enter the entrance room of the Justice Building, which is a particularly old fashioned, wooden, but cozy room. We don't spend too long waiting before we're called on to the stage, which I'm quite thankful for, now that I'm so eager to see who these volunteers will be. We take our seats on the stage after being introduced to the District, before the Mayor begins to welcome our Escort.

"It's time to welcome back to our District, someone we all know and love! Please give a round of applause for our lovely Escort, Conifer Heavensmith!"

For an Escort not belonging to a Career District, Conifer - or as she likes to go by, Connie - is quite enthusiastic. Perhaps it's because of our history of performing rather well, or maybe it's just because she doesn't have to escort a District like Nine or Twelve. She almost skips onto the stage, clearly quite enthralled to be here again. It could be just because she enjoys Reaping two teens for a death game, which would be a bit morbid, but I wouldn't put it past a Capitolite.

Her long auburn hair sways with each movement, whilst her amber eyes lighten up with glee at the sight of the crowd. She reaches the microphone, before taking it off the stand and holding it up to her face.

"Thanks for the warm welcome Mayor Evergreen, and please, call me Connie," she smiles at him. I can't help but smirk when she says this, as the same thing happens each year. Always correcting her name.

"And greetings District 7! My goodness how time has flown, it feels like just yesterday we were all gathered here!" Connie beams, as she looks out over the crowd.

"Such a generic thing to say," Johanna snorts, rolling her eyes.

"What else should she say? Hi boys and girls, I'm back to choose two of you to die?" I suggest. Johanna has to cover her mouth in order to stifle her laugh.

"Anyways, you didn't come here to see me of course; we are gathered here to find out which lucky young man and woman will get the opportunity to participate in the annual Hunger Games! So without further ado, let's begin," Connie squeaks, clapping her hands once before she makes a direct path to the bowl of female names. The Town Square is silent, but there is plenty of movement. Not from direct moving of bodies, but rather the visible breath that emits from everyone's parted lips, filling the cold air with its cloudy appearance. I can't help but find myself on the edge of my seat, my focus entirely on the crowd as I wait for Connie to select a name. Which one of these people will be our volunteer?

Connie makes her way back to the middle of the stage, clutching a slip of paper between her fingers. Suddenly, there are a whole lot less visible clouds of breath in the crowd, perhaps due to the amount of people who have held their breath in preparation. Connie coughs lightly as she unfolds the slip of paper, taking a brief moment to read the name in her head, before she announces it to the crowd.

"Our female tribute this year is . . . Lilac Hawthorn."

"Ooh, pretty name," Johanna breathes. I eye her with amusement for a moment, trying to wrap my head around whether or not Johanna Mason of all people just described a name as being 'pretty'; however my attention is cut short.

"I volunteer myself as tribute," a confident voice rings from the crowd.

"Told you," Johanna whispers. I pay little attention, as my focus is entirely on our volunteer. The people in the crowd look rather shocked; flabbergasted that we have received a volunteer. Of course, I would have been the same if I hadn't known we would be receiving one, I can only imagine the confusion when the next volunteer will step up.

For now however, my focus is entirely on this volunteer, as she strides to the front of the eighteen year-old section, making herself known to the world.

"Eighteen as well? Well done Johanna," I mutter. Johanna shrugs, perhaps feeling rather humbled.

"Honestly, it seemed like she was going to volunteer anyways, I simply encouraged it."

Regardless of what she did, this girl walks forward nonetheless, resonating a calm confidence with the way she marches to the stage. She stands fairly tall, at around 5'8", with a toned physique that suggests a life of labor. Her body seems strong, athletic; her hands even appear to be calloused. She has caramel colored skin, that suggests biracial parentage, alongside curly jet-black hair that she has let run loose down below her shoulder blades. I stare at her heart shaped face, taking notice of her cold gray eyes, her large full lips, and her strong eyebrows that are set in a domineering, stony expression.

This girl is filled with determination, and instantly I feel intimidated upon watching her. Johanna watches on like a proud mother, clearly satisfied by our newest volunteer. She goes up the stairs two steps at a time, before reaching her spot right beside Connie, who herself seems particularly intrigued.

"Well then, congratulations on becoming District 7's newest tribute, Miss . . ."

"Amazon Abiodun," the girl responds, a small smile popping up on her face.

"Right, Amazon, well yes congratulations! Would you mind sharing why you have decided to volunteer today?" Connie questions. Yes, that would be interesting to know.

"There are too many evil people that enter these Games Connie, and I need to cleanse it of them," Amazon responds, causing discussion amongst the crowd.

"Cleanse?" I question blankly.

"She's referring to the Careers, she hates them and thinks they need to be purged. Believes their nothing but evil, and all that," Johanna informs me lazily. I bite my lip, considering what she says.

"Oh, huh," is all I can think to say.

"Right? It'll certainly make it interesting with this next volunteer," she grins.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Wait and see," she shushes me, before we both turn our attention back to Connie and Amazon.

"An interesting motivation you've got there Amazon, I'm sure it'll be exciting to see play out!" Connie gushes. Amazon shrugs her shoulders, putting a hand on her hip in the process.

"That isn't my primary concern, but I can imagine things will get messy," Amazon responds, causing Connie to bounce in excitement.

"Gee, she's excited," I comment, watching Connie wrap up Amazon's introduction and head towards the male bowl.

"The last few years have been pretty average, you can't blame her for the action this year being a little more riveting," Johanna points out.

_And it's about to get a little more riveting, _I think to myself as Connie dips her hand inside of the male bowl. She's quick to pick a slip of paper, before scuffling back to the middle of the stage to announce the person that should be the tribute this year. Luckily, it doesn't matter who it is, because they won't be going anywhere. Connie coughs into her hand to clear her husky voice, before she unfolds the slip of paper. Once more, people have frozen in terror, petrified that they may be the ones selected.

"Our male tribute for this years Hunger Games is . . . Dogwood Henries!"

"Ooh, gross name," Johanna comments this time, a look of revulsion planted on her face. Poor kid, what can you do with the name Dogwood? It doesn't really matter, as my thoughts aren't on Dogwood for long.

"I'll volunteer for him!"

More commotion is the result of this volunteer, people astounded that we've received two volunteers this year. Connie looks as if her eyes are about to pop out of her skull, her mouth ajar in shock that she's received two volunteers this year.

"Oh my, this never happens," she mutters, just loud enough for us Victors and Amazon to hear. Amazon herself appears quite intrigued, and perhaps a little shocked as well. I'm sure she expected to be the only volunteer, but now she has to face the prospect of a challenging District Partner.

Once again, I see movement coming from the eighteen year-old section, as our volunteer makes his way to the front. Two eighteen year-olds? I haven't been this lucky in years! He had a deep, booming voice, so hopefully that matches his appearance.

_Oh it does all right._

The boy emerges from the crowd, towering above most of the other people behind him. Around 6'5", he stands brutish and muscular, with skin of a fair complexion that appears rough and rugged. A long scar rests jagged alongside his neck, whilst his face is nothing short of intimidating. His lips are thin and pursed, suggesting he grits his teeth behind them. His eyebrows are dark and thick, with disheveled and unkempt, short hair that is dark brown in color resting atop his head. His cheekbones are structured nicely, alongside a razor sharp jawline, which still isn't as piercing as his icy blue eyes. This kid is something else.

"What the fuck? Johanna, I think we've hit the jackpot!" I exclaim, feeling my eyes widen in shock.

"Mmhmm, do you think his jawline gave him that scar? Because _damn _is it sharp," she grins deviously.

"How are you possibly thinking of such a thing right now?" I question in disbelief. She snickers, leaning back with her arms folded.

"You're the one mentoring, I'm just interested in their looks. I love me some eye candy," she smirks. No surprise there, yet I don't let Johanna's running commentary distract my thoughts. I need to focus on these tributes, in order to figure out the best approach in mentoring them. Both harbor Career physiques, but I'm yet to assess their approach to the Games. Aside from Amazon's comment about targeting the evil in the games - which in itself is quite telling - I still can't work out what strategies either has.

As the boy reaches the top of the stage, his height becomes substantially more terrifying. I myself am above six foot, yet he still conquers me in that category. Amazon is tall as well for a female, just below the average height of a male the same age. But next to this guy, she cowers in comparison. That doesn't stop her fiery confidence; in fact she appears to stand straighter, and taller, as the boy stands on the other side of Connie. She observes him, likely trying to work him out from a first impression.

"Wow, how is the weather up there? . . . Mister?" Connie comments, having to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. I can't help but visibly cringe at her ridiculous joke, possibly the most generic joke you can make about a tall person. This doesn't seem to bother the boy though, who even cracks a smile at her words.

"Great actually, and the name is Malik. Malik Durbe," the boy chuckles devilishly. I had expected a more of a silent and deadly type from Malik's appearance, he sort of looks like a no-nonsense guy. From this interaction though, I can see that there is a little more to him.

"Malik! Well I can tell already that you seem greatly suited to these Games. However, would you like to share your reasons for volunteering today?" Connie inquires. Malik pauses for a moment, before shaking his head, replying in his deep tone of voice.

"Personal reasons, perhaps when I win I'll share a little more," he replies, an expression of wicked determination cemented on his face.

"Very mysterious! I'm sure we will get to see plenty of you Malik, but for now, this wraps up the Reaping for this year," Connie announces, turning once more to the crowd. "Malik and Amazon, I'll have you step forward for a moment."

The two of them step towards each other, eyeing each other with unwavering intimidation. Malik is the first to put his hand out, with Amazon being quite reluctant to take it first, eyeing him up with pure suspicion. Begrudgingly, she takes his hand and the two shake. Both appear to have a tight grip, as if they're trying to crush one another's hand to assert their own dominance. Malik appears quite surprised by her effort at first, before he grits his teeth and squeezes harder, causing Amazon to gasp softly in pain, dragging her hand back hurriedly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you District 7's two tributes for the 99th Hunger Games - Amazon Adiodun, and Malik Durbe!" Connie exclaims, before a surprisingly commendable round of applause follows. Interesting, perhaps people see potential in these two, or maybe they're just happy that they volunteered for two innocent teens.

As the Peacekeepers surround the pair of them, they begin to escort them inside of the Justice Building. Amazon disappears behind the group of men clad in white armor, however Malik can still be seen towering above the majority of his Peacekeeper escort.

"So, what do you think?" Johanna questions. I turn to her, as she appears standing beside me, the rest of the Victors beginning to disperse.

"Well my primary concern isn't innocent tributes being destroyed anymore, so that's a start," I respond. Johanna grins, folding her arms in satisfaction.

"What is the primary concern now then?" She questions. I can't help but feel my smile falter a little, before I look back at Malik one last time before he disappears into the building.

"That they'll destroy each other."

* * *

**Asita Clearway**

**~21~**

**District 8**

_**Victor of the 96th Hunger Games**_

* * *

The sinking feeling in my stomach has started again. I lean my face against my arm, closing my eyes as I groan out of dread. I've felt this way for the last three years, which have been arguably the worst three years of my life. It's a feeling that I dread having to feel every year, but I know that it will spike up regardless, nothing ever changes.

One would think it's out of fear about the Hunger Games, the memories of being Reaped flooding back and reminding me of the terror that I had to face during that year. That however, is a distant memory for me nowadays. Something far more concerning is what has plagued my life these last few years, something that I can't share with anyone.

I hear the calls in my mind, the longing for me to return to the Capitol, to meet up with my recurring sponsors to discuss 'business'. That's laughable, the business I am forced to discuss is a very different type of business, one that I'm expected to take part in as a demand from President Snow.

_Ex-President Snow, the bastard rots beneath the soil now. Exactly where he belongs, _I think bitterly. Of course, despite my feelings of angst, things are different this year. I have always been expected to uphold the demands of the Capitol, they say you are free once you become a Victor, but it's entirely the opposite scenario. You become a slave to their demands, their expectations, or else you suffer the consequences.

Coriolanus Snow was an enforcer of this type of business; he knew the impact it had on the Games, despite at what cost it came at. Whoring your Victors out for funds and fan appreciation? I wouldn't have put it past that evil son of a bitch before becoming a Victor, and now I have learnt it as fact. This year would be nothing different, had he not passed away. Yet here we are, a new President - a seventeen year-old girl as well - things should change, right?

That's the thing, I'm not entirely sure what to expect yet. She claimed not to be anything like her great grandfather, in fact she appeared to detest a lot of the things he did, as she stated during the meeting with the mentors. She spent a great portion of that meeting debunking any potential misconceptions that could be made about her, which I respect that she went to the effort to do. However, this doesn't exactly excuse the fact that she's a Snow, and for now, I trust nobody of that surname.

Her case isn't helped by the fact that Romulus claimed she threatened him with prostitution when she met with him a week prior, and although I question the authenticity and credibility of _anything _that pig has to say, I have to ask what he gains out of lying about such a thing? Did he want to turn us against her out of his pure dislike for her? Perhaps he was simply shit-stirring the rest of us for the sake of his own entertainment? If that's the case, then it's disgusting . . . no - abhorrent - that he would do such a thing. After what he has done in the arena, and what some of us have had to go through post-arena, it's such an insensitive topic to joke about.

"Ignore him, he was talking out of his ass," I mumble to myself, my face sliding down my arm and resting on the cool glass table. That's right, I'm sure of it, Caroline Snow, at seventeen years old, is not going to force me to pleasure customers for sponsor money - she _has_ to be different from her predecessor. How optimistic of me, huh?

I swing around in my chair and look around the room, being the entrance hall of District 8's Justice Building. There are not too many people around, specifically talking about Victors. We don't have many of them; in fact, we are one of the poorest performing Districts in the Hunger Games. I was the first District 8 Victor for God knows how long, leaving me the youngest in the room by a few decades at least.

Our District is one of the worst prepared for the Games, we have no outdoor skills from our industry, we aren't typically intelligent, we aren't rich and well fed, and we certainly aren't trained like the Career Districts. I had only one thing on my side, a natural gift that I really should be more appreciative for. My appearance is indisputably the reason I'm still here today, I really didn't have much more to offer than that as a tribute. The Capitol admiration for me combined with the reluctance of other tributes to kill me was unexpected, to say the least, but it essentially provided me with something that nothing else can.

I was protected. The Capitol wanted to keep me alive because of the attention I received from their audience; the Careers _invited _me into the Pack and wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on me, even each other.

I furrow my brow at these thoughts, biting my lower lip out of disapproval.

_No, you deserve more credit than that Asita. You seduced them; it was you that manipulated them._

I close my eyes, remembering the training sessions back in the Capitol. The way I used to swing my hips as I walked, displaying my assets in the best way possible. The way I bent over to pick up a weapon, 'coincidentally' in front of the Career boys as they watched me from their training station. The seductive glance I would give in passing with a simple flick of my long black locks over my shoulder. The nights in the arena I would sleep beside different members to 'retain warmth'. All of these strategically placed moves that accumulated into jealousy, lust, and eventually, competition.

I remember that I had been inspired by Rowan's performance in the 86th Hunger Games, where he had driven the Career Pack to civil war simply by driving the males jealous, and the females competitive. Of course, he hadn't done so intentionally, but if it worked then, I didn't see why it couldn't work for me. It most certainly did.

Once the Careers wiped each other out, I killed for the first and only time ever. He was the final Career, he had been wounded in the fight, but in retrospect he probably could have survived his wounds. Regardless, I feared he would realize I had manipulated them all, so while he attempted to cope with his injuries, I apologized profusely as I thrust a knife into his throat. It still haunts me to this day, the look of betrayal in his eyes, the hurt, the sorrow, every emotion he couldn't speak, was translated in that pleading gaze. He had weakly grasped my wrist in his hands, attempting to resist my stab, but it was too late, the life drained from him in a matter of seconds. I shouldn't feel guilt; he had been the Career to take out the District 1 pair, specifically Sienna Lockheart. He had betrayed them, just as I had betrayed him afterwards. It still pained me nonetheless.

That was the last time I had to kill anyone, as every tribute I ran into either fled out of a refusal to kill me due to not wanting to, or simply because they thought I was extremely dangerous as I must have taken out the Career Pack myself. They obviously had no idea how it really played out, but it was nice having that intimidation factor that made people leave me alone.

The truth is, I couldn't face anybody after what I had done, I didn't have it in me to do such a thing again. I tried to avoid everybody as best as I could, and it worked - until the finale. Of all people to survive to the end, it was my District Partner. If I couldn't bring myself to kill anyone else, how was I supposed to kill him?

Ultimately, it didn't even matter. He refused to kill me as well, and before I could do anything, he stabbed himself. He spent his dying moments confessing his supposed love for me, which in all honesty sounded more like an obsession with me from the words he spoke. He died nonetheless, leaving me in this putrid world, the guilt of twenty-three lives weighing me down.

Although I was only linked to about seven of those deaths, and only one of them directly, I still can't help but feel ashamed for how I won. Many would say I did what I had to do, which is entirely true, but it still doesn't take away the horrific feeling of having done it.

That is why I like to forget exactly how I won, through seduction and manipulation, which are now the burdens of my life. It's landed me in a truly detestable position for the last few years; I can only hope that this year it all ends up in the past.

"Alright Victors, get ready to exit shortly," a commanding Peacekeeper bellows from the door. I perk my head up at his words, stretching my back before I stand up in preparation. I guess this is something to distract me from my past, focusing on the present that is. My two new tributes that I have to mentor will be Reaped in a matter of moments, getting one of them out should be my main priority.

I end up at the back of the very brief line of Victors that await the doors to open. Not a moment too soon, they swing open and flood the room with sunlight, causing me to squint and shield my eyes so that they can get used to the brightness. When they adjust, I see the Town Square, filled to the brim with sour, dread filled faces that watch as the Victors file onto the stage. I feel a pang of guilt in my chest as I lower my eyes to the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the crowd.

_Pull it together you idiot; you're about to be on camera._

Duh, of course. The Capitol would hate for me to look glum and sheepish, I have to appear as I always do on the screen. Bright, stunning, and happy. The more appealing I look the more 'attention' I apparently receive.

I shouldn't think of it like that, I should think of it as making a good impression, trying to secure sponsorships for my tributes. I don't need to look happy in case someone wants to sleep with me; it's so that they're more inclined to sponsor my tribute.

_Yeah, that's the reason!_

When our Mayor eventually calls out my name, I stride forward with a cheery grin, swaying my hips just as I had done for the Careers those few years ago. The cameras pan over to me in a heartbeat, lingering much longer than they had on the other Victors we have. They follow me all the way until I sit in my seat, not cutting away until the Mayor is about a sentence into his current speech.

"Now, to properly kick start this Reaping, we once again need to welcome our lovely Escort, Miss May Silentsong!" the Mayor beams as he motions towards May. A polite round of applause is what May is met with, as she calmly steps out onto the stage, waving politely with a content smile planted on her face. Her dark, midnight blue hair falls in waves down below her shoulders, with her body being wrapped within a plum purple fur coat, that ends at around her calves. It looks very big on her, like a child who has put on their parents clothes, but I know it's purely a design choice, I recognize the brand of the coat being from one of District 8's more luxurious street wear.

May has always been about luxury, and elegance. The way she acts is always sophisticated and calm, honestly it's a wonder she decided to get involved with such a brutal industry such as the Hunger Games. We've always gotten along however, so I have no ill words to say about her - I dare say she is one of the only Capitolites I like.

As her fur coat sways with her every step, I can't help but envision Caroline Snow in my mind. She had dressed similarly, although the fur coat had fit a lot better. I would think May and Caroline would get along well, considering their similar fashion sense.

My eyes once again return to May, as she taps lightly on the microphone in order to test its volume. She smiles humbly at the audience, perhaps in an attempt to calm their nerves. As someone who was once in that crowd, I can say from experience that there is nothing anyone can do to soothe any feelings of angst.

"Good afternoon, District 8! I'm honored to be welcomed back here once again, and I'm pleased that I can be here in your presence," May says softly, scanning the crowd as she goes. After some of the more exuberant Escorts I have had the . . . pleasure, of meeting, May is always much more reserved. At least she doesn't hype up the selection of two people heading towards their deaths.

"Of course, I am here under circumstances that bring us all together once every year. This year is the 99th Hunger Games, and I will now be selecting two young individuals to accompany me back to the Capitol for participation," May explains, making sure her purpose is painfully clear. "Now I will commence the selection, by drawing our female tribute!"

The only sound that can be heard is May's heels as she takes daunting steps towards the female bowl. I close my eyes momentarily, the visuals of her doing the same thing before selecting my name. The same terrible feeling I had felt comes crashing back, before it really hits me that some poor girl is about to feel the exact same way.

As May plucks a slip of paper from the bowl, everyone eyes it with trepidation. Whoever has their name on that slip of paper, will never be the same again. May carefully unfolds the piece of paper, before clearing her throat and looking out over the crowd.

"Our female tribute for the 99th Hunger Games will be . . . Lindsey Clarke!"

I'm not sure what to expect, everyone has a different reaction to being reaped. Some are similar to one another, others seem very uncharacteristic of such a young person, so when I hear Lindsey's name, I await for something to happen. Last year, the girl burst into tears, and the boy resisted in a panic; this year so far it has been just . . . nothing. A few moments pass, and Lindsey still hasn't stepped up to the stage, causing most of the crowd to start moving around as they turn to try and look for the unlucky girl. May stands on the edge of the stage, trying to get a look for Lindsey making her way to the front, but so far she is yet to make herself known.

"Lindsey? Are you there?" May calls out, starting to appear worried. It's possible that Lindsey isn't even here, and even May knows the repercussions of failing to attend the Reaping. I turn my gaze to a group of Peacekeepers on the outskirts, who appear to have tensed up, noticing the tribute has failed to present herself. They murmur to one another, before one pulls out a device and glances at the screen. The same Peacekeeper takes lead, motioning for the others to follow him as they start to sift through the crowd.

People step aside for them, before eventually they come to a stop within the middle of the eighteen year-old section. They all surround someone who remains out of sight due to their height, before they begin moving back the way they came, now guiding who I can only presume to be Lindsey.

When they reach the front of the crowd, both the cameras and myself finally get a proper view of Lindsey, and I can see why she hadn't moved from the crowd upon her name being called. Lindsey is rigid, looking completely fear-struck and in an absolute state of panic.

She's a fairly pretty girl, nothing too special that would really capture the audience, but she certainly doesn't look bad. Her fair skin appears to be extra pale, as the color has completely drained from her face. Her long, chocolate brown hair appears to usually be straight, although a few strands have fallen onto her face as she whisks her head around profusely, looking for an escape. Hey eyebrows are dark and defined, bringing out the beauty of her blue eyes despite the wild panic held within her expression. Her pink lips tremble, a small frown embedded on her face, as she gets closer towards the stage.

Lindsey is dragged up the steps by the Peacekeepers, and as she is dropped next to May, she glances at the Peacekeeper who held the device as he steps back with a grim expression.

"A-Ajax?" she whispers in desperation, a pleading look held within her gaze. The Peacekeeper, who I can only presume to be named Ajax, lowers his eyes and turns away with his pack, making their way back to their original position. Huh, weird I suppose . . .

"Ah, well it's nice to see that you're here Lindsey," May warmly welcomes her, breaking the palpable tension. Lindsey flinches at her words, spinning around and realizing that she now has the full attention of Panem. She seems fidgety, rubbing the bridge of her nose before clearing her throat.

"S-sorry I took so long, I just . . ."

May puts a comforting hand on Lindsey's shoulder as her words trail off, before a knowing expression becomes readable on May's face.

"I know dear, it can be quite confronting, nobody blames you for not expecting such a responsibility," she reassures her. Lindsey lowers her head in shame, and I can't help but feel a pang of pity as a result. This poor girl, she doesn't deserve this; hell, nobody does! But only one person can make it out alive, and there is still another tribute to be reaped.

May is quite understanding of how Lindsey is feeling, deciding not to press her for extra comments and let her register what has happened in her own time. She swiftly moves on to announcing that it's time to select the male tribute, silencing the crowd even further as she takes direction towards the bowl. All eyes in the District follow her hand, as it dips into the bowl and picks up one individual slip of paper.

As May makes her way back to the middle of the stage, Lindsey shakes profusely; possibly scared to find out who she will be going to the Capitol with. I bite my lip in anticipation, feeling nervous as well at the prospect of having to mentor a twelve year-old or someone just as tragic. I haven't had much luck with mentoring male tributes yet, so I don't have very high hopes as a result. My eyes lock onto May as she gives a little cough into her balled fist, before she leans into the microphone.

"Our male tribute for District 8, in the 99th Hunger Games - is Wilbur Grenshaw."

Wilbur Grenshaw doesn't ring any bells, which makes me suspect he is a fairly young kid if I don't know the name back from when I attended school. Regardless, I never get to find out, because the completely unexpected decides to shake things up.

"I want to go, I'll volunteer for him!"

Seriously? I mean . . . _seriously_? The last thing I was expecting was a volunteer, I don't think anyone remembers the last time that District 8 had a volunteer tribute. I'm in such a state of disbelief that I can't even bring myself to react; my body is numb as my eyes wander over to the source of the voice. Who could have such a death wish?

The people in the crowd stare at one another in a state of confusion, and even May who is always collected and sophisticated, can't help but allow her jaw to drop. The slip of paper that held Wilbur's name falls from her fingers onto the stage, landing right in front of Lindsey. Lindsey has frozen up once again, the shaking having stopped. However, her face is contorted in a state of apprehension. I don't think anyone knows how to react, how does someone react to this situation? Do we celebrate? Cry?

It seems like what everyone decides to do is watch the volunteer in silence, as he bursts out of the pack of people at the front of the eighteen year-old section, and stares up at Lindsey. He is a wiry kid, just below average height with skin so pale I can see the veins in his arms. His eyes bulge with a bright green color, with thinly stretched lips that curl up into a disturbing smile. His hair bounces with every slight movement, styled in a natural shade of red, with short curls evident throughout.

He continues to stare up at Lindsey, his hands on his hips looking as triumphant as can be. Lindsey glances down at him in confusion, her eyes refusing to linger as they dart around erratically. I can't blame her, this kid is plain creepy.

As he makes his way up on to the stage, I get flashbacks of my own Hunger Games, with the kid reminding me vividly of my own District Partner. The way he stares at Lindsey, the expressions he makes, they reflect the same obsessive behavior that my District Partner showed throughout the Capitol. I never felt comfortable around him, and this kid already gives me the same vibes.

_But why volunteer? _I find myself questioning. From what I can tell, the boy is certainly not

handsome by any means, and although I hate to judge off of a first appearance, there's something quite repulsive about him, whether it be his appearance, his attitude, or both. He doesn't seem particularly clever, or mysterious, the only thing he has going for him is that he seems rather optimistic.

It would seem that May is also trying to work out why this kid would volunteer, as when he reaches her, she seems quite eager to question him.

"Hello young man, congratulations on volunteering! You've just broken a volunteer drought for District 8! Do share, what is your name?"

"My name is Nokia Adamar," the boy replies, eyes wandering back over to Lindsey, who stands awkwardly watching the mega screen rather than Nokia directly.

"Great! Now Nokia, I think we're all dying to know, why did you volunteer today?" May asks. I hold my breath, waiting to see how he responds. He simply chuckles before beaming at Lindsey.

"Well, so I can protect Lindsey of course!" He grins. I feel my forehead furrow, as I see Lindsey's face transform into one of pure puzzlement. She seems just as out of the loop as I am.

"Oh - so you two know one another?" May questions, sounding quite intrigued.

"Of course! After all, we're meant to be together," Nokia responds dreamily. I can't help but feel a shiver run down my spine, discomfort making itself unbearable within my chest. I retract my thoughts of Nokia reminding me of my District Partner, because currently, Nokia seems way worse. Lindsey's mouth moves without words, as if she is trying to protest what he has said. However, it's too late, nobody is paying attention to her.

"Well this certainly is an interesting turn of events! Usually I would have the two of you shake hands as a formal meeting, but since you're already accustomed with one another, I'll allow the two of you to speak later," May beams, looking back at Lindsey. I can't help but feel like May has done this purely for Lindsey's benefit, as she appears not to be in a state to be shaking the hand of this guy. Nokia twists his mouth at this in disappointment, but shrugs it off and turns back towards the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for District 8! Lindsey Clarke, and Nokia Adamar!" May exclaims, a hand rising towards both Nokia and Lindsey. The crowd are still rather confused, however they produce a light round of applause simply out of good nature. Within seconds, Peacekeepers flock to the stage, surrounding the two tributes and beginning to escort them to the Justice Building. I spot the Peacekeeper named Ajax, stride right up to Lindsey, before leading her behind me with a few other Peacekeepers. I spot him glare at Nokia for a second, before he disappears behind the doors of the building. Nokia follows with his own group of Peacekeepers, not resisting, and looking quite content with his current situation.

Once the tributes have left the view of the crowd, the Mayor dismisses them, causing people to begin leaving in swarms. I stand up myself, with one thought in my mind before I head towards the carport. I take a few steps forward, before tapping on May's shoulder, causing her to turn and smile at me.

"Oh, hey Asita! Mentoring again this year?l" she questions.

"Yeah, I don't see that changing for a while," I reply, a bitter snort leaving my nose. I turn my head from side to side in order to make sure that nobody is listening, before I lean closer to her so that only she can hear me.

"Can you do me a favor, May?" I whisper. May eyes me with curiosity, putting her hands on her hips as she responds.

"I suppose that depends on the favor, but I'm sure I can."

"Keep an eye on Lindsey for me, that Nokia kid rubs me the wrong way," I mutter, causing May's eyebrow to rise.

"I-I can do that, I'm guessing whilst you're not around?" She questions.

"Pretty much. Maybe sit between them in the car and such, just keep the two apart," I request. May's eyes drop to the floor, her lips twisting slightly.

"Does this have any relation to Twine?" She asks softly. My shoulders drop a little at the mention of Twine, which had been the name of my District Partner. May became aware of his obsession when he confessed it in the finale, so I can't blame her for making that assumption.

"I guess," I sigh. "Not just that though, I mean - last year, with Romulus . . ."

"Say no more, I get it. I'll keep an eye out," May smiles, causing me to breathe deeply out of relief.

"Great! Well, I'll see you on the train," I beam. May nods with a grin, before walking past me towards the doors of the Justice Building. I raise my head towards the cloudy sky of District 8, breathing deeply through my nose.

"And so it begins," I mutter.

* * *

**Terra Everbloom**

**~23~**

**District 9**

_**Victor of the 93rd Hunger Games**_

* * *

It's so silent in here. It's quite the delight really; it's not too often that I get to experience a quiet moment for myself. There is a muffled sound of the crowd outside of course, but only so much of the sound carries through the window. Otherwise, it's peaceful, something I can enjoy for the time being. Leaning back against my chair, I close my eyes for a brief moment, feeling the heaviness in my eyelids overwhelm me.

In all honesty, I'm exhausted. My eyes have heavy purple bags beneath, which say something considering they don't often show on my tanned skin. My head pounds with aggression, begging me to rest and get some sleep. I'm so tempted to, but there is no point considering how close the Reaping is to beginning.

_No sleeping Terra, you've got a duty to fulfill, _I urge myself, gritting my teeth as I rub my eyes once again.

"Shit," I mumble, my eyes widening as I realize what I just did. I glance at my hands, and make a tsk with my tongue, due to the concealer that is smeared on them that had been covering up my bags. This isn't good; I don't need anyone seeing me like this, especially the douche that is about to arrive any moment now.

I can already hear the comments that he would make at my expense, and the punch-able smirk that he'll produce at the sight of my sleepless face. All because he's _so _perfect, and I'm supposedly useless.

If there is one person responsible for my lack of sleep, it's him; Millet Arrowroot. He's a fellow Victor, of the 83rd Hunger Games to be exact - but that means very little to me. Ever since I was first Reaped, we have been at odds. I've never seen eye to eye with him, and as a result, our dynamic is rather strained. To him it's all a competition, he's the very best and I'm just a lousy Victor who got through on luck alone. In all my life, I have never met anyone more disrespectful than him - well maybe aside from Romulus Lindell.

Millet has always held a grudge against me, out of purely petty reasons initially. I wouldn't adhere to his self-glorified image of how awesome he was when I first met him on the train ride to the Capitol, and that infuriated him. I practically ignored his instructions, and his advice for when I would be in the arena; convincing him I was doomed to die.

I think what infuriates Millet the most, is the fact that I'm the only tribute of his that managed to win, and I was the one that did it without following his methods. Ever since he has been bitter about it, he doesn't show it that often, but deep down I know that it hurt.

Despite how much of an asshole he can be, I still cannot help but feel drawn to his presence. What is it that does it? Do I like the competition? Have I come to genuinely enjoy his company over the past several years?

I scoff at that thought, rolling my eyes with a dismissive smirk. No, I'm just too stubborn to show that he annoys me. If I visibly allow him to see that he gets to me, then he will win. That being said however, I don't need to give him any reasons to mock me.

I take out a small pocket mirror that I managed to grab from back home, thinking ahead for this possibility. I silently praise myself for remembering to bring both the mirror and some concealer, before I lightly apply it under my sleep-deprived eyes.

I should know better than to deprive myself of sleep. I know how important it is to be refreshed and alert, but it foolishly slipped my mind as I had prepared myself for this years mentor job. I've spent the last week binge watching the past five Hunger Games, from the 94th - the year after my own Games - to the most recent in the 98th Hunger Games. I've been learning about how my tributes have functioned in the past, how they've responded to my advice, to the Hunger Games itself, and to recollect how well they've done.

The short answer is not very. District 9 has never been particularly skilled at the Hunger Games, which is a recurring trait for the majority of Outer-Districts. District 9 however, is in the bottom four Districts in terms of success; a fact that is quite terribly laughable. Millet and I are outliers for our District, possibly the only District 9 Victors that have won within ten years of one another, which is remarkable considering the few actual Victors that we have had overall.

I want to change those statistics, but that is going to require a lot of work. It starts off with the luck we have in terms of the tributes we have reaped. Not very many have been capable over the last five years, and a large portion were fifteen or younger. There isn't any chance of strong teenagers volunteering in District 9; it all comes down to luck.

If we so happen to be lucky enough to reap formidable tributes, then I need to learn from my own mentoring mistakes in order to help them. My advice could very well have been terrible enough to cause the death of the tributes I have mentored in the past, and to test that, I of course watched the last five Hunger Games. That leaves me here, tired from my endeavor, but enlightened from a new insight.

It isn't about the way I've mentored in the past necessarily, but it's how the tributes respond to my help. I need to find a way to help these tributes in a way that adheres to their personal needs. I've inherently expected my advice to be able to relate to every tribute I mentored, but only after re-watching those Games, have I realized just how different each tribute can be. My own game plan doesn't at all suit a thirteen year-old kid that has no leadership experience. I was lucky enough to be able to rally up a pack of tributes to take on the Careers, but I can't just expect my tributes to do the same.

Not to mention that I won by not following Millet's game plan; if that's not telling of how I need to adjust my mentoring approach, then I don't know what is.

Regardless of this, it won't be that simple. There's one specific obstacle that will be thrown in that will make things difficult, and I know exactly what it will be. Millet himself. For the past couple of months, since the presidential shift, he has been hinting at wanting to mentor again. Now that he has the freedom to come along, he's going to insert himself in just to prove that he's the 'better' mentor. It makes things difficult, because on one hand, he's going to turn things competitive.

_But lives are on the line; _I think worryingly, biting my lower lip, feeling quite troubled. Does it have to be black and white? Can't I focus on both helping my tributes, _and_ putting Millet in his place?

If there is any motivation for doing such a thing, it would have to be what directly follows my thoughts, with the door bursting open causing me to jolt out of my sleepy demeanor.

"Well if it isn't Terrible Everbloom," Millet exclaims, strolling through the door with a smirk planted on his face. Such an original pun, it's not like he has used that one before.

"Eat shit Millet," I groan, my body recovering from the shock of his sudden entrance. Millet grins as he falls into the chair opposite, putting a foot up on his knee as he watches me with interest.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" He mocks a gasp, feigning an over-exaggerated state of concern.

". . . No," I reply. His smile extends even more, before his eyes lock onto my right hand.

"I know your post-arena ticks Terra, the way you go to grab your 'weapon' whenever you're startled," he points out, using air quotes with his fingers. I glance at my hand, noticing how I instinctively have reached out to grab what was once my war scythe, my fingers rigid as they grasp the imaginary handle. I loosen my arm, pulling it close to my chest as I rub it awkwardly.

"Shut up! I can't help it sometimes," I mutter, as I stare at the floor. Ever since the final moments of my Hunger Games, I have never been the same. The way the Careers ambushed us on the final day as we slept - being awoken to your friends being slaughtered or doing the slaughtering can take quite the toll on someone. Nowadays, I don't respond too kindly to being jump-scared or startled, which Millet is perfectly aware of.

"You're such a fucking jerk sometimes, you know that?" I spit at him, glaring darkly at his amused face. If I had to compare him to anyone, he's like an annoying older brother . . . a _very _annoying older brother. The way he grins at me without a care in the world right now, I've never wanted more than to prove I'm better than him.

He leans forward for a moment, a playful glint in his eye as he watches me frown at him. I can already see the cogs turning in his head, as he appears to want to say something that might piss me off.

"Do you believe you're alright to mentor this year? Think you might get one of them over the line this time?" He questions, his voice a tad softer than before. I snort, leaning back against the back of my chair as I watch his curious gaze.

"Firstly I've been allocated the mentor position, so I don't really have any choice in the matter. However, yes; I am more than ready to help my tributes," I reply, my voice strong and determined. Millet flashes a look of doubt, before chuckling as he turns to the window and watches the crowd that has gathered outside.

"So you're so sure, huh?" He smirks, folding his arms. I shake my head incredulously, sighing in response.

"Millet, you're supposed to be supporting me, you're supposed to want me to help one of these tributes survive. Why do you have to act like this?" I ask, my voice sounding rather pained by his attitude. Millet's face falls a little, the smirk that was so embedded onto it now vanishing completely. He doesn't meet my gaze any longer, which is nothing but uncharacteristic coming from Millet. He takes a while to respond, but when he does, it's not what I expect.

"It's . . . I'm not sure you would understand, Terra."

"Well, at least try! This way you act, it's tiresome!"

Millet bites his lower lip, before his gaze meets mine for a moment.

"It's because of Bucky," he almost whispers. I can feel my forehead crease in confusion, before I perk forward a little with curiosity.

"Bucky? You mean - Buckwheat Giffiths?" I question. Buckwheat had been my District Partner back during the 93rd Hunger Games, he was a younger kid, but I never really conversed much with him. He died around mid-game, which was kind of surprising to me in all honesty, I suspected he would have died a lot earlier.

"What does he have to do with anything?"

"He . . . you know what, don't worry about it. It's nothing," Millet says dismissively, causing me to feel a sliver of anger.

"Well, clearly it _is_ something. Come on, you can't leave me hanging like that," I exclaim, grabbing his arm and shaking him.

"I just did, and I'll do the exact same thing when I do a better job of mentoring than you this year!" He exclaims, gearing his arm away.

"What?" I cry out in disbelief.

"That's right, I'll show you that you have plenty to learn from me," he folds his arms, a taunting smile returning to his face. I scoff at his words turning my back on him.

"You're unbelievable. Don't act like this is an attempt to teach me something. You just want to prove you're better than me, you want to make this into a competition, don't you?" I accuse him.

"I mean . . . now that you're suggesting it . . ."

"No don't you dare flip this on me," I pressure him sternly, now turning to face him once again. "How well a tribute does, isn't a complete way to measure the capabilities of a mentor. It's only a factor of it."

"Okay, whatever you say Terra. But I'm still coming along, I want to help," he insists, causing me to raise an eyebrow.

"Alright, fine. To help though, got it?" I question. He nods his head with a smile, before I shake my head with a sigh.

"Fine, now lets go, the Reaping should commence any minute now," I instruct, causing Millet to begin moving.

"I've been waiting years to go back, it's about damn time," he grins, before passing me and entering the entrance room. Do I trust him? Absolutely not, I know he will twist this to become competitive somehow, but I won't let him. I'm going to help both of my tributes equally, and Millet isn't going to stop me. I follow him out of the room, before standing in front of the entrance of the Justice Building.

"Ah excellent, you're all here now! Mayor Grainwork was just about to introduce you to the stage!" A woman who works in the Justice Building squeaks, beaming at Millet and I as we join the rest of the Victors.

"Do we really need an introduction at this point?" Millet mutters. I hit him with my elbow to signal him to shut up, mere seconds before the doors swing open to let us out of the building. Walking onto the stage is the same as any other year, silence aside from the amplified voice of the Mayor over the microphone, introducing us by name as we enter in a single file line. The crowd stares up blankly, disinterested by our presence and just wanting this to be over with. I can't blame them, I was the exact same before my name was called out on that fateful day.

We take our seats after the introduction, unfortunately with there being nowhere to sit other than directly next to Millet. I guess it could be worse, poor Cato probably is sitting next to Romulus at this very moment. I shake any thought of Millet from my mind, wanting to pay full attention to who will be my tributes. The Mayor has turned back to the crowd, appearing ready to transfer responsibility of the microphone.

"Now, to commence the selection of our two tributes for this year, allow me to welcome back our wonderful Escort - Autumn Wheattree ladies and gentlemen!" The Mayor exclaims, before directing everyone's attention to Autumn. I watch as she makes her way to the middle of the stage, decked out in a range of fall colors to match her name, which is quite common to see from Autumn, as it is her distinct style.

I've never had much of an opinion on Autumn really, she has always been alright. I've never outright hated her; I've just never really connected with her. I guess I always had a bit of a deeply embedded resentment for Capitolites, as many people from the Districts do, but having worked with them for the last few years, I've grown to learn how to tolerate them. At this point, I find Millet more annoying.

Poor Autumn, she's going to have to put up with the inevitable bickering between Millet and I. I already feel sorry for her.

"Thank you District 9! I'm so happy to be back here, and I'm excited to get things under way!" She smiles, ignoring the lack of reception from the crowd.

"Of course, the time has come to randomly choose two young individuals to take part in our annual Hunger Games. So without any further ado, I will begin with the girls!" Autumn announces, beginning to make her way over to the female bowl. At this point, I don't even know what to hope for. I'm not even sure it matters, as the outcome will likely be the same; whoever has their name called out now, will likely be dead within the next week and a half.

This idea doesn't seem to sway Autumn, who excitedly picks a name from the top of the pile, before scurrying back to the microphone to announce the unlucky girl. The silence becomes unbearable, as people await the inevitable.

Autumn unfolds the piece of paper, giving one glance at it, before looking up and out towards the crowd.

"The female tribute for District 9 will be . . . Amaryllis Kane."

"Amaryllis, that's a nice name," I comment absentmindedly, causing Millet to snort in amusement.

"Is their name really that important?" He rolls his eyes. I frown at his words, shaking my head in response.

"Of course, it's a factor that plays into memorability, the Capitol will be more receptive to her if she has a nice name," I point out. Millet simply shrugs, before glancing out at the crowd.

"Well, there she is," he comments softly. When I turn away from him, sure enough, Amaryllis has emerged from the front of the crowd. I feel a sudden churning in my stomach, not being able to conceal the frown that becomes planted on my face. She just emerged from the thirteen year-old section, meaning that like usual, one of my tributes is unfortunately young.

Amaryllis herself is probably slightly taller than the average thirteen year-old girl, although she's still rather small in comparison to older tributes. Her body is slim, standing with a straight posture that doesn't suggest that she is fearful in any degree. Caramel toned skin is what makes up her physique, with dark, curly, brown locks that fall down to the arch of her back. As she walks forward, she diverts her gaze away from the cameras, fixating her light brown eyes on the ground. She proceeds to continuously tuck her hair behind her ears, which never stays put and overflows back past the ridges. When she gets closer, I see her face better, seeing just how young she looks with a cute button nose, large lips held in neither a smile nor a frown, and sun kissed cheeks yet to be touched by the pimples of puberty.

Amaryllis is hard to read, if I had to guess she looks perfectly accepting of having been reaped, which I cannot deny, is extremely uncharacteristic of a thirteen year-old that has just been selected for the Hunger Games. However, she still looks so innocent, and particularly harmless; it's not a promising sight.

"I'm not sure how confident I feel about her," I mutter.

"Where's that confidence you usually have? Come on Terra, a Mentor needs faith!" Millet scolds me.

"Remind me not to give you any of my thoughts again," I roll my eyes, folding my arms in annoyance. Amaryllis has made it to the stage, now standing beside Autumn who gives her best attempt at looking excited by Amaryllis' selection. It's not difficult to tell; Autumn doesn't feel too comfortable having just reaped someone so young. Perhaps the age selection is outdated, or maybe it should never have been allowed to go so low to begin with.

"So Amaryllis . . . congratulations on becoming District 9's female tribute!" Autumn beams. Amaryllis simply glances at her, before staring down at the ground, taking a moment to provide a proper response.

"T-thanks Autumn," she replies softly, her voice wavering slightly with emotion. Although she isn't visibly showing her inner turmoil, her voice says it all. Perhaps it took a little to properly impact her, but regardless, she now sounds particularly saddened.

"I'm sure it's a lot to process, but we all hope that you'll be able to make us proud," Autumn speaks up, trying to comfort Amaryllis with a hand on her shoulder.

"I hope I can," Amaryllis responds, clearly not much of a talker. Autumn seems to realize this too, causing her to refrain from questioning Amaryllis any further, and move on to reaping the male tribute.

"I think it's about time we select our second tribute for this year, in order to find out who will be joining Amaryllis on this journey!" Autumn exclaims, before walking over to the male bowl. Just like before Amaryllis was reaped, the crowd becomes deadly silent, the tense atmosphere returning as thousands of teenage boys await the doom of one of them.

_That's pretty presumptive, this could be the next Victor! _I scold myself. Whoever it is, their name is on the slip of paper that Autumn now grasps in her fingers, as she makes her way back to the microphone. She unfolds the piece of paper just as she had done for Amaryllis, and without a moments hesitation, she reads out the boys name.

"Joining Amaryllis this year for the 99th Hunger Games will be - Burton Hansen."

"You going to comment about the name again?" Millet questions, snickering with glee. I bite my lower lip, resisting the urge to punch him.

"Shut up, you're being insensitive," I scold him. I block Millet out, wanting to take in every first impression from Burton that I can. It takes a few moments for him to emerge from the crowd, and when he does, I feel the urge to sigh again when I see that he is only fourteen.

"Another youngling? That's unfortunate," Millet comments. For once, I would have to agree with him; to get two tributes that are both not even over the age of fourteen, certainly isn't a promising sight to behold.

The sight of Burton himself is . . . pretty unremarkable. He looks like your average fourteen year-old boy, with big brown eyes, a face dotted lightly with freckles that blend in to his tanned skin, short brown hair that appears straight rather than curled, and a relatively short stature in comparison to older kids. If I had to say if there was anything going for him, he at least appears to be quite athletic, not really malnourished at all, perhaps if he plays his cards right he could be an evasive tribute.

When I try to read Burton, I notice that I can't really develop a great understanding of him. He appears to be particularly good at hiding how he is feeling, because as far as I'm aware, he's barely even reacted to being reaped apart from walking towards the stage. As he continues to make his way up, I examine the mega screen to try and get a better look at him, but in all honesty, there's nothing to see. His eyes scan his surroundings, and his mouth refuses to neither smile nor frown; if he's trying to conceal his emotions, he is doing a particularly good job of it.

"Hello Burton! How are you?" Autumn questions, appearing dismayed at having selected yet another young tribute. Burton stands next to her, looking out at someone in the crowd, likely his family.

"I'm a little bewildered thanks, but I think I'm okay," he responds, eyes now locked onto Autumn. She smiles back at him, trying to be supportive of the kid.

"That's great! So do you think you're ready to take on this challenge?" Autumn asks. Burton shrugs, glancing down at the ground.

"I suppose so, it would be nice to win," he speaks up, cracking a playful smile. Autumn appears to find this endearing, holding a hand to her heart, before she pouts a little out of sadness.

"Oh I'm sure it would! In order to start the process of that, it's time to conclude this Reaping and get these two to the Capitol!" Autumn announces, before stepping back and nudging Amaryllis and Burton together.

"To kick start this, we will just have you shake one another's hand," Autumn says softly, causing both Amaryllis and Burton to glance at each other. They both stick their hands out, politely shaking the other before looking back out over the crowd without a second glance.

"That's the first sign," Millet mutters.

"First sign of what?" I question.

"They're going to be loner tributes, they'll train separately," he responds. I shake my head, crossing my arms in annoyance.

"You'll let _them_ come to that decision Millet," I whisper. Both of our attentions are turned back to Autumn, as she holds both Amaryllis and Burton's hand in the air.

"Can we please get a round of applause for the District 9 tributes for the 99th Hunger Games! Amaryllis Kane, and Burton Hansen!" Autumn exclaims, earning pity applause for the two tributes. Shortly after, Peacekeepers surround the pair from Nine, causing them to disappear behind the heights of the men. The crowd begins to break up, with Autumn following the two groups of Peacekeeper escorts into the Justice Building.

I feel a tap on my arm, causing me to glance up at Millet, who stands ready to leave.

"You know what time it is, let's get going," he ushers, heading towards the cars. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the heaviness in my eyelids beginning to be noticeable again, begging me to go to sleep. Not yet, I have more work to do. However, as I turn to see Millet getting further away, I can't help but feel reluctant to move. If anyone is going to tire me out, it's going to be him.

"Ugh," I groan to myself. "This is going to be a long train ride."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Alright, and I'm back! Things have been crazy recently, and there's a lot I need to address, so I'm going to get stuck into it right away.**

**First off, I know, it's been a while since the last chapter. I'm not proud of it taking so long, but that doesn't mean there wasn't a reason for it. Uni work has been killing me recently, and there's been a few instances where I have done nothing all day but sit on my laptop doing assessments. I've wanted nothing more than to be writing, but I just couldn't afford to while I had due dates approaching. In addition, I'm not out of the woods yet, I still have one last round of assessments before my mid year break, so once that is done, I hope to have more consistent updates. I want you guys to know that I have every intention of working on this story, I have no plans to abandon it because I have so much I want to explore. I recently spent a few hours planning out a large portion of how I want Heir to play out, and I'm really excited to get to it. So although there may be times where my chapters are sporadically uploaded, they will be done with time.**

**The next thing I wanted to speak about is the story itself, specifically the amount of characters that are in it. I'm very aware that I have introduced a lot of characters recently, and it may take some time to learn and remember them, and I'm quite aware of how overwhelming it could be. I want to properly state my plans for these characters, such as the Victors, which is simply, to have various sub plots from the main story. Not all of them are going to be extremely prominent, and some may not appear that often at all, it's simply to establish a history, that I will build onto with your characters. Once the Reaping Chapters are done (the next one is the final one), we won't have any Mentor POV's until the Hunger Games begins, where there will likely be one POV from a Mentor per chapter. So after next chapter, the focus is entirely on your tributes until the games, and I'm super excited for it! **

**As for another point, yes I know - a LOT of volunteers this year. I just want to remind you, that these are the tributes that you guys have submitted. I'm just rolling with what I've got, and in the future I would probably be more strict about the amount of volunteers I receive, but for now, the 99th Hunger Games will be a popular year to volunteer for. I'm trying my best to establish just how unheard of it is to be a volunteer in some of these Districts, as realistically there just wouldn't be this amount of people volunteering. Again, these are your characters, and I want to stay as true to them as possible, so this is the result!**

**The last thing I wanted to speak about is feedback. There are quite a few people that have submitted tributes in this story, but I haven't gotten many reviews as of late. When my last chapter was released, I only got a few, which feels a little disheartening considering how much time went into that chapter. I know my chapters are long, and the POV's are yet to be through the eyes of the tributes, but they're still important chapters that I would love to hear people's thoughts on. There have also been a couple of PM's or reviews that let me know they enjoyed the chapter - which I'm greatly appreciative of - however, I would also appreciate it if those individuals elaborate a little further on their thoughts. It's very insightful to see people's opinions on various things throughout the chapter, but again, I still do appreciate the indication that you've enjoyed it! Sorry to be a downer with this last point, but I'm sure many fellow authors would understand where I'm coming from. Reviews and feedback mean a hell of a lot, so that's where I'm going to leave this point :)**

**Anyways, thanks so much for reading! Please do review and let me know your thoughts, it means a lot to me and provides a lot of motivation! Next chapter is the final chapter focusing on the Reapings, named **_**Reaping IV: Cattle, Flowers and Coal**_**. After that, it's tribute POV's! Keep an eye on my profile for updates about the status of the next chapter!**

**-Winter**


	9. Reaping IV: Cattle, Flowers and Coal

**Reaping IV**

_Cattle, Flowers and Coal_

* * *

**Paddock Richards**

**~23~**

**District 10**

_**Victor of the 94th Hunger Games**_

* * *

The sun beats down on the arid climate outside, the harsh rays piercing through the window and falling onto my dark skin. The heat is intense; I can only imagine what it would be like outside of this cool, air conditioned room, amongst the sweaty and huddled bodies of people awaiting the Reaping. It was not so long ago that I was out there with them, waiting to see whether or not my name would be called out to determine the rest of my life. I never thought it would happen of course, yet here we are, five years later.

Every year since, I have stood in this very spot before the Reaping commenced, watching the people of my District become rounded up and segregated accordingly, just like the cattle we do the very exact same thing to. Perhaps a little justice for the mass slaughter we inflict on a daily basis?

"No," I mutter under my breath, a little snort following due to the absurdity of that idea. We have no choice but to farm these animals, it may be cruel, but it sustains our country. The fact that only four District's are responsible for food production has resulted in famine for the majority of Panem, and the strict conditions of not eating _any _of what we produce has only made things worse. If we didn't farm animals to such an extreme, the Capitol would undoubtedly repeat its actions that District 13 suffered first hand. The death of cattle in our District is never in vain; it is a necessity.

What isn't a necessity however, is the wretched Hunger Games. How fitting the name is for the topic at hand. The Capitol don't need to round us up and kill twenty-three teenagers every year, to them it's all entertainment. Sure, once upon a time it was a punishment; but that is no longer the case. The rebels responsible have long since died out, no District citizen living today is responsible for those actions. The Hunger Games now simply serve to keep us in line, a precaution to prevent us from risking harsher punishments.

As far as I'm concerned, I've already been punished enough. I may live a life of riches and fame - but it's not a life I ever asked for, nor wanted. I was perfectly content with my life before the Hunger Games, yet the moment my name was announced as tribute, it was changed irrevocably.

_Stop acting like a victim, you're not the only one going through this. _

My thoughts are harsh and venomous, scolding me as if they were peering at me in a personified form. Just as judgmental as ever, haunting me day in and day out. The worst thing about it however, are these thoughts don't come from me. Sure, they are my own thoughts, that can sometimes be unnecessarily critical - but I always hear them in his voice.

The 'he' that I speak of is bound to be here any moment. I turn for a moment, eyeing the closed door darkly as I imagine him entering as he does every other year. Just as obnoxious and demeaning as ever.

"Fuck him," I mutter, shaking my head and ridding him from my thoughts. Adleer isn't here yet, so for the moment, I can try to enjoy my peace and quiet, and calm down my emotions before the Reaping commences. I close my eyes for a moment, before I reopen them and glance at the crowds once again. Gritting my teeth, I attempt to breathe deeply, and soothe my troubled thoughts.

How can I keep my emotions under control when I have to watch such an injustice occur every single year? For fuck-sake, two of these kids are likely going to die again this year, and all I can do is watch, or try and send them sponsor gifts that they usually underutilize.

When I lower my eyes, I realize how tightly I clench my fists, causing me to slack my grip and drop my shoulders. It's no use; today is not a day that I am going to remain calm. The truth is, I'm angry. I'm angry at the Capitol, I'm angry at the Careers, I'm angry at the tributes that will inevitably kill my tributes - hell, I'm still angry at the tributes from my own Hunger Games!

In all honesty, I don't think I'll ever not be angry at those tributes. What they did, unleashed the worst in me, to the point that it cost them their lives. I sometimes think back to my Hunger Games, and how good it felt to inflict vengeance upon those that relished in the killing of my ally. She was just a little girl, she didn't deserve to go out the way she did, a way in which I dare not relay in my mind. I try to forget her name, but I know I can't rid the memory of little Ellody of District 5. Perhaps they felt the same way about killing tributes, as I did about avenging Ellody?

I scoff at the thought, a ridiculous one at that. I mustn't fall into delusions, as despicable as the tributes were that killed Ellody, my rage and rampage was inexcusable. I let the Capitol win, they drove me to kill, they caused me to lose control, and ever since I've been seen as the warrior from District 10 - as if I wanted that role.

I was driven by savagery; purely unadulterated rage. I may have put down the bad tributes, I may have taken out a few Careers as well, but I also killed the innocent. Any tribute that got in the path of my bloodlust didn't escape, and unfortunately some were tributes that had no bad bone in their body. They were just children like me, trying to survive a death game.

Those innocent tributes that I killed changed me, traumatized me in fact. Sure, to make it home I would have needed them to die anyways - but the fact that it was at my hand is troubling in itself. Had Ellody and I made it to the end, I have no doubt that I would have sacrificed my own life for hers. She had a promising life ahead of her, still so young and ambitious. I had nothing, no family, friends, or anything to my name.

Well . . . 'no family' isn't entirely true. My immediate family had been dead for a long while, so at the time of being a tribute I suspected I had nobody. It was only after I was crowned as Victor, that my mentor - Adleer Brooks - the very obnoxious person that I had just dreaded entering the room a moment ago, revealed himself to be my cousin. Albeit, we are distant cousins thankfully, I would be disappointed if I was any more related to that asshole.

It's only a few moments later that he finally arrives, barely here on time as per usual. He strolls into the room, a cocky smirk planted on his face as his eyes meet my own. He stops a few feet away from me, arms folding as he leans back for a moment, silent as ever.

"Cousin," I acknowledge him, a mutter being the only tone I can muster.

"Little cousin," he grins wider, a tone of amusement in his voice. He sure loves to emphasize that he is the superior one, at least in his eyes. Adleer was crowned Victor of the 82nd Hunger Games, to the surprise of nobody. He was one of the biggest tributes that had ever been Reaped; even larger than District 11's Thresh from the 74th Hunger Games, and even me when I was a tribute. He stands tall and muscular, built like an ox and intimidating to all. He wasn't the best at using weapons, however he didn't even need them. Raw strength alone proved to be mighty enough to allow Adleer to dominate the arena.

The finale for his year was legendary; Adleer against the District 2 boy - who happened to be very capable in combat - the fight lasted for an hour. Ultimately, Adleer's power and endurance broke the boy from Two, who made fatal errors in his final moments leading to his death.

Ever since the 82nd Hunger Games, Adleer has been District 10's dominant force, their pride and glory. He grew cocky, arrogant, and never expected anybody to surpass him. I always suspected he was intimidated by me, not out of a physical standpoint, but rather that I would take over his glory. When I was Reaped, he treated me like shit - he didn't even tell me that he was my cousin. I suppose when I won, he realized it was pointless to hold back that information . . . especially when he could use it to get to me.

Now here he stands, towering over my slouched form with his dark, tree-trunk arms folded confidently. He eyes me for a moment, before snorting and joining me by the window. He watches the outside crowd as I had done before, with an absence for concern in his expression. What I see is fervent excitement within him, an excitement that makes me shudder in disgust.

"Why do you look so happy? It isn't exactly the most joyous of occasions," I grunt, my eyes drifting back to the crowd.

"What do you mean Paddock? I'm just glad to see my little cousin, we don't see each other often," he insists, holding up his hands defensively. I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to laugh.

"Glad to see me? Cut the bullshit Adleer, you know we're not on good terms, we never have been."

"Hm, well clearly you're not a family man," he sighs, attempting to guilt me. I turn my head to his, my eyes flashing with anger.

"I don't have a family, they're dead. As far as I'm concerned, the two of us aren't related," I reply bluntly. How would I want Adleer to respond to that? For him to protest? To try and reconcile with me? That would be nice, but of course, he laughs heartily at my comments as if I were a comedian.

"That wasn't a joke, I don't get what's so funny," I growl, standing up straight as I turn to Adleer.

"We're not related? Where did you develop that opinion?" Adleer questions, a grin still planted on his face.

"Oh I don't know . . . it could have been the moment we met? Maybe it had to do with the way you treated me? Perhaps it was the fact that you kept the knowledge from me that I still had living relatives? It seems like you made my decision up for yourself," I spit, my fists clenching once again.

"Well Paddock, with that kind of attitude, you'll stay alone," he responds with a straight face. His words feel like a bullet ripping through me, they cut deeper than I thought they would have. My whole life has been one of loneliness, the only time I didn't feel lonely was the week I spent in the Capitol as a tribute, and the few days spent in the arena getting to know Ellody better. Ever since, things have remained the same.

Nonetheless, I refuse to allow Adleer to know that his words have hurt me; instead I cover it up with the one thing I seem to know best - anger.

I stand taller, now almost reaching the same height as him, before I step forward and lower my head next to his. I see him tense up, but I don't fear him, not at this point.

"Maybe being alone is what I'm destined to be. But I would rather be that, than an egotistical douche like you are," I hiss venomously. Adleer steps back for a moment, taking a good look at the dark expression upon my face. I don't know how I expect him to react; will he punch me? Murder me? Just to prove that he is the alpha?

Adleer does none of those things, but rather, he chuckles as he raises a hand to my shoulder. I can't help but allow my face to fall in confusion, as I'm taken aback by his reaction.

"You want to act all high and mighty Paddock? Just remember who you are, what you're really all about," he grins. I raise an eyebrow, gritting my teeth as I reply.

"What would that be?"

"You're a monster. A maniac. You'll always be that tribute that lost control. That reason, little cousin, is what I adore about you. That is why I ultimately did tell you we were related, because I finally found out that you weren't as soft as I thought you were prior to the Hunger Games. I was able to accept you were related to me, because I liked what I saw."

Adleer's words send chills down my spine, and all I can do in response is stare at him in astonishment. He pats my shoulder, before beginning to make his way over to the door.

"You preach this peaceful crap, trying to suppress the true rage you hold in your heart. It's making you weak, and you know it. The tributes that are about to be Reaped, they don't need your feeble attempts of peaceful mentoring, they need to be taught vengeance, and bloodlust. It's the only way they'll survive," he utters morbidly, before vanishing out of the door. My body feels numb, as I'm left stunned by his words. I had always assumed Adleer hated me . . . yet he has been trying to influence me instead?

I hardly have time to wrap my head around it, for as soon as I begin to recollect all the instances of Adleer attempting to provoke my inner anger; raised voices begin drifting in from the entrance room to the Justice Building.

"Victor's of District 10, you're out on stage in one minute! Please gather at the entrance!" A presumably bitter Peacekeeper shouts from outside the door. Adleer smirks, before patting my shoulder and striding past me. He turns back one last time, a grin etched onto his face.

"Or, you can hold onto these hopeless morals and lead your tributes to certain doom. It's your call Paddock," he remarks, before he makes his way over to the other Victors outside the room. Begrudgingly, I follow in pursuit, still fuming from our interaction.

Arriving at the door, I spot Adleer chatting with another Victor, laughing heartily as if nothing had happened between us. I scowl at the back of his head, before placing myself on the other side of the group, trying to separate myself from him. I have no interest in being near him at the moment, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the feeling might be mutual.

Thankfully, I'm distracted from my thoughts of him by the creaking of opening doors. Hot, blinding sunlight floods the room, causing me to squint momentarily before my eyes adjust. I follow the Victors as they file out on to the stage, with my name being mentioned last due to the placement of my Hunger Games victory being the most recent. I choose a seat up the front - being the opposite end of where Adleer seats himself - and in a position where I can focus properly on the two tributes.

My eyes land on the crowd once again, their faces now clearer and even more sodden. I really want to bring home a tribute, I truly do; but it's so difficult, especially when I had a clear advantage compared to the majority of the kids in this crowd. When I look at the twelve year-old section, I feel my stomach churn at seeing how young some of these kids look. Just as Ellody had been.

Despite my heart hurting for them, I as well as everyone else has their attention diverted as a stifled cough is amplified into the microphone. My head turns to face the old Mayor of District 10, a wealthy and grouchy man that's due to keel over any day now. His middle-aged son stands nearby, presumably learning and observing for when he has to take the mantle from his father. In his scratchy voice, the Mayor insists the crowd applaud our presence, before he seems to run out of breath and motions for his son to take over.

As the crowd lightly clap their hands for the Victors, the Mayor's son steps forward, as another assistant escorts the Mayor out of sight in order to avoid stirring concern.

"Uh, thank you everyone for that warm welcome to our beloved Victors! However, they are not the only ones that are to be welcomed, because we have a returning visitor here for the momentous occasion! Please welcome our fantastic Escort, Daisy Farmark!"

The Mayor's son steps back as he claps rapidly, a beam on his face as he watches towards the Justice Building. The crowd starts up another round of light applause, whilst I do the same out of respect for Daisy as she makes her way on to the stage. Back when I was a tribute, Daisy was also my Escort, and at the time she was practically my saving grace. For how terribly Adleer treated me in the Capitol, I hadn't expected much from Daisy as a Capitolite herself. However, she exceeded my expectations; she even made my stay there semi-tolerable alongside Ellody. I guess it shows why she is an Escort, because she's well equipped for the job.

She makes her way on to the stage, with her curly blonde hair bouncing down to her back with every step, and her face a pale white in color, accompanied by freakishly yellow eyes that can surely only be achieved artificially. Her golden yellow colored lips curl into a smile, as she waves at the crowd with enthusiasm. Daisy has always been one to try and stay happy and optimistic, often trying to bring out the happiness in other people. She's quite skilled at doing this with the tributes, making my time as a Mentor a little easier.

She arrives at the microphone, before removing it from the stand so that she can walk around with it.

"Thank you District 10, I'm so happy to be back here, it's always a delight!" She gushes, using her hands to try and express herself exuberantly.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, I'm here today to take part in the annual Reaping, where I will select a lucky young man and woman, to participate in the glorious Hunger Games!"

_Glorious? It's not a glory that many people seek, _I think bitterly. Many other people seem to have the same thoughts, as expressions from the crowd are filled with frowns and raised eyebrows. Daisy doesn't seem to let this dampen her spirits; in fact she doesn't seem to notice at all as she continues with her speech.

"Now, before time gets away from us, I shall commence the selection process!" Daisy squeaks, before making her way over to the first glass bowl full of names. Thousands of eyes follow Daisy as she moves, eyes full of fear, and panic. I try to remember the feeling of what it felt like before a name was called out, with the dread that it could be my name coming out of Daisy's mouth, yet I struggle to recall the emotion. It's almost as if I've long forgotten how it feels to be scared, or to be nervous - most of the time I'm filled by rage.

Daisy makes a show of selecting a name, playing around with a few slips until her fingers grasp on to an individual paper slip. She takes the name back to the center of the stage, before she unfolds the paper and takes a look. When I look at the crowd again, I frown at what I see. Many of the girls have tensed up, some even hiding themselves behind others and peering out from behind their shoulders. God, it must be a terrible thing to experience as such a small bodied young person, one that's not even a teenager yet.

My eyes lock on to Daisy once again, just as she begins to say the name of the unlucky girl.

"District 10's female tribute for the 99th Annual Hunger Games will be . . . Nera Abadelli!"

Here we go, the first tribute out of two that I have to deal with this year. Usually their first reaction to being Reaped is a good indication of what they're going to be like, and more often than not it's a rather extreme reaction; which is rather fair in all honesty.

However, a few seconds pass and I'm blessed to not hear a cry of despair, or a scream of terror that I have grown accustomed to. People try and locate the girl named Nera, with many heads turning and looking for some sort of movement. After a few moments, I'm led to the awareness of her location, as presumably the people in her age bracket all look at her and clear the area, knowing her identity before we do.

This occurs in the seventeen year-old section, and before too long, a clearing has been made with one girl standing in the middle, staring up at the stage with the color drained from her face. The cameras find Nera immediately, and with that I am able to see her clearly on the mega screen. She is of an average height for a girl her age, with a surprisingly athletic frame. Muscle definition is identifiable in her arms, leading me to believe she must hold some sort of labor related job, as many do in District 10.

However, not only does she look athletic, but her body posture and demeanor is rather noteworthy. She stands straight and proud, despite the clear uneasiness contorted in her expression. Her other features certainly make her look appealing when paired alongside her commendable physique, with her light brown hair held in a low ponytail, and her chocolate brown eyes that stand out against rather fair skin. She holds her chin up after a moment - leading me to notice her perfect nose - before she bites her lower lip; pink lips that had been held in a surprised frown only moments before. She looks to her side a few times, her eyebrows now furrowed in concern.

Despite this, she puts on a determined expression, before beginning to stride forward as people make a path for her. She looks back a couple of times at the same person, and when I fixate my gaze on this person, it's only then that I notice the person is identical to Nera. A twin sister? I can't imagine how that would feel, most twins that I have met are practically tied at the waist.

Nera reaches the stage, standing next to Daisy still looking a little uncomfortable. I can't blame the poor girl, but I still have to commend her for reacting so calmly. Daisy seems to appreciate this as well, I know for a fact that she has had a few screaming tributes, so I imagine this would be a nice change up. Not to mention, she appears to be a lot more intrigued by Nera than most tributes . . . perhaps ever since she Reaped me.

"Welcome to the stage Nera! How are you feeling right now?" Daisy questions, trying to squeeze a couple of initial impressions out of Nera. Nera fiddles with the sides of her dress, as she stares out at whom I can only guess is her twin. I try to read her eyes for what might be going on in her head, which actually reveals something interesting. I've seen those eyes on a few tributes in the past, those are the eyes of someone that has been let down . . . of someone that has been betrayed.

Nera clears her throat, before giving her response.

"Uh, a little nervous in all honesty. But you know what? Bring it on!" she exclaims, her expression once again turning to one of determination. Now this is a pleasant surprise, I haven't had a tribute as passionate as Nera seems to be, maybe there is more to her after all!

"Oooh I love that fire in you Nera! I can already tell that you're going to make District 10 proud!" Daisy squeals, clapping her hands excitedly.

"I-I hope that I can," Nera replies, taking a deep breath after her words.

"Well isn't that a riveting start to this Reaping? However, it's not over yet! It's about time we find out who will be accompanying young Nera here," Daisy cries out, before heading on over to the other bowl filled with names.

As I watch Daisy, I consider who I would want to be Reaped. I wouldn't want anyone to be chosen in all honesty, but realistically, someone strong that could work well with Nera would be incredibly ideal. I have to remind myself that it's also rather unlikely, as every male tribute I have mentored so far, has been a helpless child with barely any meat on their bones. Perhaps this year will be different, if Nera is anything to go by.

However, as Daisy swiftly turns around with a paper slip in her hand, I still can't shake the feeling that I'm about to have a twelve year-old tribute this year. Everyone's eyes are laid on Daisy, including Nera who stands still, with an apprehensive expression embedded on her face. I wouldn't be surprised if she's contemplating how she should be feeling, as well as reacting to this next tribute Reaping. She doesn't have long to do so, as Daisy has already reached the center of the stage once more, with the paper slip in her fingers now unfolded, and the name of the condemned on the tip of her tongue.

"District 10's male tribute for this years Hunger Games will be - Reynold Hawkins!"

Following the announcement of Reynold's name, is silence; a surprise to nobody. The cameras pan over the crowd slowly, waiting to see some movement from the newly Reaped tribute, before finally, Reynold begins to move forward. I see him within the eighteen year-old section, surprisingly close to the front, as he begins to step past who are likely his classmates. From an initial glance at him, I'm actually taken aback. He looks strong enough, although slightly short, but stocky enough to hopefully pack-a-punch. I'm so absorbed with examining Reynold that the last thing I expect is for somebody else to step up.

"I-I'll go. I . . . volunteer," an apprehensive voice stammers from the crowd. Many people gasp, whilst others look around wildly in confusion. Reynold himself stops in his tracks, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and relief.

_Who in the hell would volunteer? And so late as well . . . _I question. The answer to that question is revealed quite quickly, as a tall boy stumbles forward to the front of the sixteen year-old section. The cameras lock onto him, giving me a clearer view of his features on the mega screen. Originally I had no clue how to feel, should I have been mad? A strong looking eighteen year-old was Reaped which would have given us a greater chance, only to be volunteered for by a younger kid.

However, this boy - as hesitant as he looks - doesn't seem all bad either. For one, he volunteered himself to go, he is someone willing to go into the arena. Who's to say Reynold even wanted to go? This volunteer as well, he may be fairly skinny, but he is quite tall, and could definitely have some power behind him. This doesn't stop people staring at him as if he has two heads, which I can't entirely blame them for - we haven't had a volunteer in years!

The other thing this kid has going for him, is he's a relatively handsome boy. His hair is a light blonde, slightly curly in nature, and trimmed short and neat. His face is symmetrical, with a small nose and dashed with an application of sun-induced freckles. Perhaps the most astonishing thing about him though, are his eyes. They're shimmering azure gemstones that could entrance anyone. I know for a fact that the Capitol will be focusing on his appearance, they're pretty weird like that. Hell, Daisy already gawks at him before realizing her mouth is ajar, closing it with flushed cheeks of embarrassment.

When the boy reaches the stage, I can tell he is very unsure of his decision. I know the look he makes, that's the look of someone who doesn't want to do something. Regardless, he's made the plunge now, he'll have to live with this decision, or die because of it.

To 'die' however, I'm not too sure; seeing this kid up close leads me to realize just how decent our odds may be this year. Nera already seems promising, and here this kid towers over both Nera and Daisy - I wouldn't be surprised if he was close to my height. Surely he wouldn't have volunteered if he didn't think he stood some chance of winning?

"Oh my, I can't say I was expecting this today! How exciting! What's your name sweetie?" Daisy squeals, stuffing the microphone in the poor kids face. He jerks back a bit, before clearing his throat to speak.

"My name is Alex Turner," he replies softly, not adding anything else. I can't blame him, I remember when I was Reaped, talking was the last thing I wanted to do. However, Alex did volunteer, one would think he would be a little more open to interview. Unfortunately for Alex, it doesn't seem like Daisy is completely done with him yet, as she continues to persist with further questions.

"May I ask Alex, why have you decided to volunteer today?" Daisy inquires, glancing up at him with genuine interest. Alex doesn't respond immediately, opting to lower his eyes for a moment, before seemingly locking eyes with someone in the crowd of people before him.

"Well . . . It's a big gamble, but if I make it out - I can provide a better life for my family," Alex chokes out, a wave of guilt washing over his face. Now I understand, Alex hasn't done this for himself, no wonder it took him so long to volunteer; he must have been so conflicted. Of course, this could all be apart of his strategy, a ploy that gets the rest of the competition to write him off. However, something about Alex seems much too genuine to be a ruse, I can only imagine how difficult his home situation may be if he's willing to put himself at risk for a chance of a better life for his family.

Regardless, Daisy seems to eat up his sob story, which gives a good impression of what the rest of the Capitol may be thinking. She pats his back with a pout, before producing a proud smile.

"That's so courageous of you Alex! Well I'm sure you'll do your family proud!" Daisy beams, before turning once more to the audience. She steps back to create an empty space between both Nera and Alex, the two of which glance at each other directly.

"Nera and Alex, feel free to shake hands and District Partners for the first time!" Daisy suggests, with both Nera and Alex stepping forward and politely taking one another's hand for a firm shake. Daisy steps forward, grabbing ahold of the Nera and Alex's hand on either side of her. She raises them up triumphantly, before closing the Reaping with a final sentence.

"Thank you for attending District 10, and here before you stand your representing tributes for the 99th Annual Hunger Games! Nera Abadelli, and Alex Turner!"

Both Nera and Alex receive a commendable amount of applause, something that surprises me to an extent. Perhaps District 10 see something in these two like I do. I continue to observe them for a while longer, before they are engulfed by packs of Peacekeepers, who completely cut off my view of Nera, and obscure the majority of Alex aside from his shoulders and head. Once they're escorted into the Justice Building, and the rest of the crowd is dismissed, I too stand up and swiftly exit the stage. The last thing I want is to hear another word from Adleer.

When I reach the car that will take me to the station, I take one final look at the stage, watching the rest of the older Victors begin to disperse. Towering above them all is Adleer, as he locks eyes with me with an expressionless face. I can't help but scowl at him, before entering the vehicle and slamming the door shut.

* * *

**Rosemary Peaceroot**

**~30~**

**District 11**

_**Victor of the 84th Hunger Games**_

* * *

Silence. Every year, it's the same thing before each Reaping. As I anticipate my time to exit the Justice Building, I'm left with nobody to talk to as I sit alone and watch through the window at the crowd that gathers outside.

I glance behind me, wishing to see some of the tributes that I have mentored over the years, desiring for them to have been able to come home. What I'm left with is vacant space, the absence of everyone that I have attempted to help.

I'm the only one; all of our past Victors have passed, leaving only me as the sole living District 11 Victor. It's a haunting thought in all honesty, pure misery considering all the lives that have perished under my eye.

I've tried so hard to help these kids, to try and bring at least one of them home; but the odds are never in their favor.

I glance back outside of the window, with my fingers softly caressing the surprisingly smooth wood of the windowsill. It's cool to the touch, with the afternoon sun having not warmed it as of yet. When I take a look at my mocha colored fingers, a thick smudge of dark grey coats the tips, signifying the heavy portions of dust that have accumulated within the building.

I tsk in disapproval, before wiping the dust on the hem of my dress, silently thankful that the dark tones of the fabric would disguise dirty grey. I'm suddenly hit with a pang of guilt, causing me to shake my head at my own thoughts. Am I really concerned about such a minor thing?

When my eyes linger on the children in the crowd what I see only furthers my guilt. Many are slightly malnourished, defeated from the labor and sullen from the lack of food in return. I should know, I was in the same position before I was Reaped.

Many of their bodies and clothes are dirty with soil and sweat from the fields, to the point that it is a rarity to spot any form of dress clothes amongst any of them. The people that do wear nicer clothes stand towards the front, likely segregated as such by the Capitol Officials who want the cameras to capture a view of the wealthier. It makes sense, they wouldn't want the audience back home to be seeing the poor and impoverished in droves. That doesn't mean it's not horrible though.

The truth is, the Capitol hates District 11. They always have. We have always had the strictest Peacekeeper presence, we have always had the least support during the Hunger Games, and they've always just made it their mission to oppress us as much as they can. It all stems from the Dark Days, all because we were the catalyst for that rebellion, and the last to back down from the Capitol's wrath. Although a century has passed, they never let us forget.

Of course, then the 74th Hunger Games came around. When Rue had died, and Katniss Everdeen defied the Capitol to make her death mean something, that's when the years of oppression and persecution made the citizens of District 11 snap. Riots ensued, and death and destruction followed.

Our mini-Rebellion only lasted a day or two before it was quashed. The main participants were executed, and the rest of us were made to watch Cato kill Thresh in silence. Despite only being five years old at the time, I still remember it vividly.

One could imagine the reception that Cato received from District 11 on his Victory Tour. From either side, there will always be an everlasting hatred for the other. I personally don't dislike Cato, the man he has become drastically differs from the way he was early in his Hunger Games. For that, I would say Thresh is responsible - he did kill Clove after all.

The fact remains however, that since the 74th Hunger Games, the Capitol have held their foot to our throats. The fact that I was able to win at all is beyond me. I always did wonder how the Capitol allowed me to win. Could it be that they were trying to come off as unbiased? Perhaps I was just so under the radar that they entirely forgot about me? Or quite possibly, they just didn't believe I would make it out of the arena alive.

As a scrawny fifteen year-old from District 11, I can't blame them for suspecting me as a write off. I almost considered myself as good as dead from the moment I was Reaped. Ultimately, it looks as if it came down to the Capitol's lack of credit towards intelligence and wit in the arena. They only gave me a score of four for my private session, despite flawlessly identifying poisonous and edible versions of berries and plant life. Since then, I like to think that they've taken a greater notice for things like that.

So it comes as no shock, that they were quite surprised when they were announcing my name as Victor of the 84th Hunger Games. I still remember President Snow refused to see me during my Victory Tour, it was only when I had to have my mandatory meeting with him that he begrudgingly accepted that a District 11 tribute had successfully won. Of course, that didn't stop him from giving me a cold, stern implication of what would happen if I used my newfound status as a rebellious symbol.

Little did he know, I had no interest in doing such a thing. He may have not noticed me all that much during my time in the arena, however that was the entire point of my strategy. I kept to myself, stuck under the radar, and survived as a result. For the fifteen years since, I've done the exact same thing, and it's kept me safe.

Although I'm not too fond of the Capitol - in the slightest - I pandered to them enough so that I would hopefully cast District 11 in a more benign light. It was always difficult with President Snow's deeply seeded hatred towards us, however he is no longer a problem. With Caroline Snow in charge, this could be a new chance to repair relations between District 11 and the Capitol. Not in the sense that we would be on friendly terms; that's practically impossible, but hopefully in a way that we would at least have just as fair of a chance of winning as other District's, to the point where Gamemaker traps and muttations wouldn't be rigged against us like they almost always have been if we make it too far into the Games.

My daydreaming is cut abruptly, as the loud clicking of heels becomes audible from another room. They approach steadily growing louder by the second, causing me to turn in the direction of the noise. The source of the noise can only be one person, as it is the same person every year.

Sure enough, a beautiful young woman rounds the corner, with stunning purple ringlets of hair that sway down elegantly, and piercing amber eyes that could only be acquired through genetic modification. The woman's orange lips curl into a smile as her eyes lock on to me, before she raises her arms in the air for an open embrace.

"Rosie, darling it's so great to see you!" The woman gushes, beaming as she shuffles forward to reach me. I accept her hug, smiling politely in return.

"It's nice to see you too, Lilac," I respond softly, before breaking the hug and glancing at her exuberant expression. Lilac Farstar, the one person who accompanied me to the Capitol that isn't a tribute. She has been our Escort for a few years now, once our old one retired after being fed up with getting District 11 year after year. Fortunately, Lilac just seems thankful to have any District, causing her to make an effort when in the Capitol.

Despite the hatred that most from the Capitol have possessed for us, I've always gotten along with Lilac. Perhaps seeing as I have gotten to know her on a personal level, she has grown an altered perception of Eleven.

Her eyes meet mine, with an empathetic gaze emitting from them, one that seems unnatural coming from a Capitolite.

"Are you okay? You seem a little down," she questions, concern now evident in her tone. I force a smile, shaking my head to dismiss the idea.

"No I'm . . . quite alright. Just a little nervous I suppose," I respond. She tilts her head, sighing softly.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, you've done this plenty of times now, right?" She points out.

"It's not myself that I'm nervous for," I correct her. "It's the tributes who's name you'll be calling out."

As much as I would like for Lilac to understand, and to properly empathize with my concerns, I know it's not possible. The people of the Capitol have no idea what its like, not even the escorts that form connections with some of these tributes. Lilac pats my shoulder, a hopeful smile planted on her face.

"Maybe this year will be our year! We can only hope for the best," she reasons, clearly trying to get the best out of a horrible situation. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, having expected the obliviousness of Lilac. I can't allow my emotions to put me on bad terms with her, especially with her being one of the few Capitolites I get along with. She means well, I can't expect her to understand that the majority of her people hate District 11.

I turn from Lilac, glancing out the window once more as I fold my arms apprehensively. Lilac appears by my side, taking out a small hand mirror and checking up on her appearance before our inevitable entrance.

"Looks like everyone is here, it should be starting soon," I murmur. Lilac glances up, smiling at the crowd who can't yet see her.

"Mmm perfect, let's get this show on the road, shall we?" Lilac grins, placing an arm around my shoulder, before leading me to the entrance of the building. A Peacekeeper stands firmly next to the door, holding a finger to an earpiece that I can only presume is a channel for his commands. The man glances at us, before standing up straight.

"Miss Peaceroot, Miss Farstar, the Reaping is about to begi-"

"Yeah, yeah - we know," Lilac sings, cutting off the Peacekeepers words. A small scowl flashes underneath the visor of the Peacekeeper, with Lilac missing it fortunately for him. "Just let Rosie here know how long before she is due her entrance."

"Mayor Thornberry has just begun his welcoming, you're due in about thirty seconds Miss Peaceroot," the man says a little blunter. It would seem that even the Peacekeepers of District 11 hold a little resentment towards Capitolites as well.

The seconds pass quickly, and before too long, the doors are being opened, acting as an open floodgate for the bright sunlight outside. I hear the voice of the Mayor beginning to introduce me to the stage, mentioning both my name and the Hunger Games that I won.

"I'll speak to you on the train Rosie!" Lilac squeaks from out of view to the crowd. I nod my head, before I stroll onto the stage whilst waving politely and smiling at the cameras. I have to do whatever it takes to appear favorable to the Capitol, otherwise it results poorly for my tributes. The crowd politely claps as I take my seat - one of two seats - next to where the Mayor will take his place once Lilac takes hold of the Reaping.

Sure enough, Mayor Thornberry - who despises the Hunger Games just as much as any District 11 citizen - is quick to wrap up his speech out of a clear desire to get the Reaping over and done with.

"Now please join me in giving a warm welcome to our escort, Miss Lilac Farstar," the Mayor utters softly, before going on to lightly clap his hands as Lilac strides out with enthusiasm. Honestly, it's quite impressive how she totally ignores the lack of participation from the crowd; perhaps it's something she's used to now.

I applaud to show support for Lilac rather than the Capitol, although it likely wouldn't matter considering the fact that all eyes and cameras are now focused on Lilac rather than myself. If they weren't before, they undoubtedly would be now, as Lilac grabs the microphone as soon as the Mayor steps back. A loud, piercing static noise emits from the speakers, causing the crowd to wince in pain.

"Oh dear, sorry about that noise . . . anyways, thank you for the warm welcome District 11! It's always a pleasure to return here each year to the stunning view of your meadows and orchards!" Lilac gushes.

_She's trying to appease the crowd through flattery? _I snort at the idea, knowing full well that the crowd would rather not be reminded of the back-breaking labor they do in the orchards before two kids are Reaped for their likely death. Regardless, Lilac seems to continue without a second thought.

"Of course, we are all gathered here today for one reason, and that is the Reaping of the 99th Hunger Games! One special young man and woman will be selected at random to participate in this years Hunger Games, which happens to be a special one as it is the final double-digit Hunger Games!" Lilac squeals in excitement. Huh, I never really thought about it that way, probably because that sort of seems like it's glorifying it. Regardless, I can see why the Capitol are excited, especially seeing as a big Quarter Quell is up and coming next year.

"Now, there is no need to go on a tangent, I won't keep you in suspense. First off, I will start off by selecting the lucky lady!" Lilac declares, before making her way over to the female name bowl. I take a deep breath, trying to relax my body before I see the poor girl. Despite not being an eligible teenager anymore, it's still incredibly nerve racking to witness. Nobody wants to see a young child drawn from the bowl, and statistically District 11 has been quite unlucky with that over the years.

Lilac swiftly grabs a slip of paper from the top of the pile, with the sound of rustling paper allowing me to realize just how quiet everyone has gone. Her heels are now louder than ever as she walks slowly back to the center of the stage. I watch the big screen as the camera zooms in on Lilac's face, and although it appears calm and professional, I can still see the glint of excitement within her eyes. With a cough to clear her throat, Lilac reads the name to herself, before looking over the crowd.

"Representing District 11 as the female tribute for this years Hunger Games is . . . Loretta Kavanagh."

The immediate reaction is silence, not a single thing happens as Loretta's name is read out. I scan over the crowd for some sort of response, but all I see are people looking around and trying to locate the poor girl. The fact that she hasn't reacted could be a good thing, it means she isn't crying and screaming, which always seems to end negatively for the culprit.

It doesn't take too long, before Loretta begins to make her way forward, as people begin to shift around to make way for her. As soon as this happens, my heart instantly drops; she's only fourteen. I sigh, closing my eyes for a second, before opening them and trying to catch a glimpse of her. This is pretty concerning, only one person in the ninety-nine years of the Hunger Games, has ever won at fourteen years-old, and that person was the insanely talented Finnick Odair.

Despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, I scold myself for my doubt. Although it's realistic to have such doubt, I can't forget that I was only fifteen when I won. It's not entirely impossible for Loretta to win this at fourteen.

However, should I really say much before I even see her? It would seem I shouldn't, as moments later Loretta emerges from the crowd, being one of the smaller tributes I have seen in my time.

_Oh dear, _I catch myself thinking, as Loretta looks up at the stage with an uncertain face. I was quite small during my Hunger Games, however I think Loretta takes the cake in that department. She looks twelve years old rather than fourteen, with a small, wiry stature to her body. She appears to be a late bloomer, with only small developments in growth to the breast and hip regions. I have to look for positives in this; being small isn't necessarily a negative thing during the Hunger Games, I'm living proof of it. Perhaps we can make it work in her favor.

As Loretta gets closer, I begin to see her features in more detail. Her dark brown hair is almost dark enough to be black, with it being held in a low ponytail that rests over her left shoulder. Her eyelashes are also dark and long, bringing out the femininity of her young face. These lashes blend in easily with her dark brown eyes, which compliment her tanned skin nicely. Her nose is cute and small, dotted by a small amount of freckles that extend to her cheeks. Her full lips are held in a frown, before her pearly white teeth bite her lower lip out of concern.

Overall, Loretta appears to be a cute young girl at first glance, someone that could tear at the heartstrings of the Capitol audience.

When Loretta reaches the stage, she stands incredibly short next to Lilac, who herself is only average height. Reaching to Lilac's shoulder in height, I can't help but imagine a brutish Career tribute skewering her body like a kebab. I shudder at the thought, choosing to expel the image from my mind and focus on Loretta.

"Loretta darling, you are now a tribute for District 11! What's going on through your mind right now?" Lilac questions, bending down a little to be eye level with Loretta. Loretta appears to be a bit timid, not immediately jumping at the chance to speak; however after a few moments, she finally speaks up.

"I-I'm a little frightened to be honest. I didn't expect to be put in this position today," Loretta responds in a small squeaky voice. Lilac flashes a sympathetic glance at Loretta, before attempting to continue questioning her on a few things. Loretta proves to not be overly talkative, a surprise to nobody I'm sure, as most tributes aren't too eager to speak immediately after being Reaped. Before too long, Lilac seems to grow bored with Loretta's lack of speech, leading her to finish up their mini interview.

"Now ladies and gentlemen, we aren't done there! We still have to find out who will be District Partner to our lovely Loretta here," Lilac exclaims. The crowd becomes deathly silent at her words, many of the boys among them looking relatively alarmed. They, alongside everyone else, watch Lilac as she makes a beeline straight for the bowl filled with male names, with an aura of excitement to her.

In no time at all, her hand swiftly grazes over the top of the pile, skimming the top and plucking a singular slip from the many in there. Would it be too much to ask for a mammoth tribute that could hold their own in a fight? Even though I was only five at the time, I still remember when Thresh was Reaped for the 74th Hunger Games. He still is one of the biggest tributes in history, on the same level as Adleer and Paddock from District 10. Perhaps we could have some luck like that this year?

If we do, I'm about to find out. Lilac now stands in the middle of the stage, already having unfolded the slip of paper. My eyes wander over the crowd, possibly scanning over the unlucky boy.

"Ahem, this years male tribute for District 11 is . . ." Lilac trails off, creating a little suspense. "Mot Whitaker."

What do I expect after Mot's name is announced to the world? Certainly not a haunting wail that sends chills down my spine. Yet, my ears are filled with the agonized screech that I can only assume comes from Mot. I can't help but wince at the sound, physically jolting back out of pure pain and surprise.

"This is bullshit!" The anguished voice shouts, before the source is revealed by the people that vacate the area from Mot. He is left standing in an empty circle, surrounded by people that stare at him without so much as a frown. Their faces are all blank, which contrast heavily against the raw emotion visible in Mot's expression. The camera zooms in on him; amplifying his image on the mega screen and providing a clear look at him.

He is of an average height for his age - which is fourteen due to the section he stands in - with his stance appearing stiff, and his body shaking profusely. His face is rather rounded, making him look younger than he really is, not to mention the flooding tears that stream down his face that are reminiscent of a child throwing a tantrum. This is assisted by his pearly white teeth gritted angrily, standing out against his rather dark brown skin. His eyes - a brown so dark they may as well be black - shine brightly due to the tears, yet hold a furious glare within them as he stares down an alarmed Lilac.

He begins to trudge forward, with his short, straight black hair rustling in the breeze. He grumbles profusely, most of his words inaudible aside from the occasional outbursts of "fucking karma".

_Hold on, does he think being Reaped is some act of karma against him? _I question in confusion. This kid is already quite an enigma, but he has certainly made the event memorable. When he reaches the stage, he stomps up the stairs until he stands next to Lilac, continuing to mutter under his breath with his arms folded defiantly. Poor Lilac looks lost for words, likely thinking of an appropriate way to approach this.

"Uh - thank you for coming up here Mot. I'm sure this must be quite a shocking moment for you," Lilac speaks up. Mot simply scoffs at her comment, sniffing as he wipes away a stream of tears.

"Not really, life is just proving that it hates me and wants me to suffer. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I'm sure this is some sort of sick, twisted karma," he replies bitterly. I notice Lilac raise an eyebrow in concern, making me realize that I feel the same way. This kid, he seems sort of emotionally messed up. It's a little concerning to be honest.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way Mot, but don't count yourself out yet! I'm sure you can make a huge impact in the arena!" Lilac exclaims, trying to brighten the mood. Mot shakes his head, frowning as he glances at her.

"No, there's no chan-"

"Well ladies and gentlemen!" Lilac interrupts before Mot can tarnish his image anymore. "That concludes our Reaping for this year!"

Lilac steps back, before guiding Mot and Loretta next to one another, and facing them towards each other.

"As a sign of good sportsmanship, please feel free to shake hands with one another. You're in this together after all!" Lilac instructs. Loretta looks down as she sticks out her hand for Mot to take, with Mot taking a moment to even make eye contact with Loretta. Eventually, he sighs, before taking her hand and giving one solid shake. Lilac smiles, breathing a sigh of relief, before stepping forward so that she is now in between the two of them.

"Can we please give a round of applause for District 11's newest tributes, Loretta Kavanagh and Mot Whitaker!"

The applause is satisfactory, nothing to commend, but expected of District 11. Even though they are our tributes, the people of District 11 still hate to conform to the Capitol's game, even if it means little things such as applause.

A few moments later, Loretta and Mot are surrounded by a hoard of Peacekeepers, many more than from what I've seen from other Districts, before they are quickly escorted away so that they can give their final goodbyes. Lilac, looking a little flustered after that Reaping, follows them inside so that she can join them on their journey to the station.

I on the other hand, take no detours as I begin to head straight for my car ride. I need to stay focused and really plan what I'm going to do, if I want to get one of these two home. Something tells me, it isn't going to be easy this year.

* * *

**Dusk Silverbrand**

**~37~**

**District 12**

_**Victor of the 80th Hunger Games**_

* * *

There's always a sense of dread on this day. It's the type that slowly creeps up on you as every hour passes, until it gets to a breaking point and this feeling of despair overwhelms you. It's how everyone feels in District 12, it's how I felt as I attended my Reaping's a couple of decades ago, and it's how I still feel before every Reaping since I've won.

To be fair, there is quite a justifiable reason for this feeling, one that is awfully apparent when looking at our history during these Hunger Games. There's just not much reason to be hopeful when your name is announced during a Reaping; it may as well be a death sentence. Out of the ninety-eight Hunger Games that have played out over the last century, only three tributes have ever won from District 12.

The first was a girl, in the early days of the Hunger Games. It was quite a few years before the Careers were established, back when everyone had a fair chance, and the Capitol actually stuck to their word on cracking down on District Training. This was of course before they realized that it made the Games bloodier, and therefore more enjoyable to the Capitolite audience.

That girl, her games are long forgotten, and she passed away several years ago. She was lucky to live a fulfilling life, because since her victory only two more have won.

Of course, one of them was me. The 80th Hunger Games broke a thirty year drought between District 12 wins, and was one that nobody saw coming. We had came close only six years prior, with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark placing second and third to Cato. That was the most hope anyone had for us in years, but it had amounted to nothing.

So when I managed to stumble my way to a rather unremarkable victory, people were astonished, to say the least. I was the forgotten one, the underdog, the ghost. People ignored me from the moment I was Reaped, all the way to the bitter end - and it worked completely in my favor.

With so many memorable and popular tributes in my Hunger Games, I can't blame the Capitol or the other tributes for forgetting about me. I suppose they never considered me a threat, not that I did myself. In many ways, I expected to die in those Games; in fact I had fully embraced it. Coming to terms with my imminent demise was surprisingly easy on the train. Perhaps it had something to do with the incapacitated mentor, or my hostile District Partner, that truly made me realize I had no hope.

When the bloodbath came around, I didn't fight it. Trying would only make it more painful, making myself an easy target would lead to a quicker and significantly less painful death. However, no matter how easy I made it for them to spot me and slice my throat open, they just never gave me a second thought.

I always theorized that it was because the other tributes were more focused on killing other specific rivals, or that they saw me as so insignificant that they figured they would let somebody else do the dirty work. Fast-forward to the end of the Games, and my final opponents underestimation of me is his downfall. I was the tortoise, and he was the hare.

I almost smirk at the memory, still in disbelief as to how somebody could be so clueless in a life or death scenario. Regardless, I was crowned Victor, to the surprise of everybody including myself. The Capitol audience were thrilled; it turns out they love an underdog, and they still seem to have a soft spot for District 12 following the 74th Hunger Games.

They began to call me the Silver Shadow, due to a combination of my surname, and the fact that I supposedly played like a shadow by being sneaky and unsuspecting. They give me more credit than I deserve; I simply won by luck.

I glance forward, eyeing the heavy engravings in the oak wood door that opposes me. The cool metal hinge glints in the dim light of the building, awaiting my hand to open it. I reach out slowly, hesitant due to knowing the result of doing such a thing.

A few inches before my fingers graze the door, I stop my hand where it reaches, hearing the muffled noises from behind the door. The clinking of a glass bottle, the squeaking of chair legs being pushed, the deep, feeble groans; noises that only one person could be responsible for.

I feel my face wince in disgust, as I hear an awfully dangerous belch fill the room behind the door. A childish giggle of a grown man follows suit, causing me to sigh. This brings me to the other person to ever win from District 12.

I open the door with a creak, only to be faced with the intoxicated figure of Haymitch Abernathy, slouched over a table with a bottle of clear spirits emptied halfway. He doesn't respond initially, with his straw like locks of matted hair concealing his eyes from view. After a few moments, I realize he hasn't even noticed my entrance, causing me to clear my throat in order to make my presence known.

"Hm?" Haymitch grunts, before sitting back in his chair, flipping his hair back with a chin raised and eyes slightly parted.

"About to pass out again?" I question with a straight face. Haymitch's eyes lighten up when he sees me, a foolish grin forming on his stubble filled face. His face has aged significantly, the lines of wrinkles stemming from the corners of his eyes. I can't help but feel upset by seeing him in this state, knowing what he is capable of; it's such a waste.

This doesn't seem to concern Haymitch however, as he suddenly raises his arms in a welcoming sense, knocking over his bottle of spirits in the process.

"Kid! It's been a while!" He chuckles, as I dive forward to pick up the bottle and prevent a flood of it on the table.

"Yeah, that would be because you lock yourself up in your house all day - and you can stop calling me kid, I'm almost forty now," I scold him, causing him to wave a hand dismissively.

"Pfft, you'll always be a kid in my eyes," he mumbles with his eyes closed.

"Maybe in comparison to you old man," I respond bitterly, causing him to burst out laughing.

"I am an old man, how funny is that? I didn't see myself sticking around as long as I have, or you for that matter," he points a finger at me. I roll my eyes, having heard about his failure to have hope in me during my Games on numerous occasions.

"Like I've said before, nobody did, not even me," I say quietly. Haymitch's eyes widen, apparently aware that he has possibly crossed a line. He starts stammering, trying to think of something to say.

"N-no, that's not what I meant by that - sorry kid . . . Dusk," he grumbles. I snort, having heard it all before.

"It's fine, I don't really care," I assure him, beginning to wipe the spilled spirits with some tissues that I had spare. Once I've done so, I accidentally get a whiff of the liquid, the strong aroma stinging my nostrils. I repulse in disgust, turning away from the soggy tissues.

"Really Haymitch? Tequila?" I cry out, with him shrugging his shoulders in response.

"I ran out of vodka . . . and gin . . . and whiskey."

"Yeah but tequila is the worst one," I groan, as I throw the soaked tissues into a trashcan.

"It's all the same at this point, it's just a sensation," he attempts to justify, as he lies back in his chair and closes his eyes. I shake my head, silently appreciating the fact that morphling is borderline impossible to get in District 12. Something tells me Haymitch would get involved heavily in it, just like Bullet Stevens.

When I turn to face Haymitch, I'm greeted with a slow rise and fall of his chest, with an almost peaceful whistle with every breath he takes. His mouth has parted slightly, leaving his face looking restful for a change. As much as I would like to leave him like this, it's simply not possible with the Reaping set to commence in any moment. I clap my hands loudly, causing Haymitch to jolt forward with a scream, waving his hand around as if he was trying to slash at his surroundings. Of course, he still sleeps with a knife; it's primal instinct at this point.

"Woah settle down! I just can't have you falling asleep," I attempt to calm him. His rapid breaths are shallow, before eventually he begins to calm down with long, calming breaths. He groans as he places his forehead on the table, right where there had previously been a puddle of tequila. He appears to smell it as well, as his hand begins to reach forward, searching for his bottle of tequila.

"I think I might confiscate this now," I mutter beneath my breath, grabbing the bottle before he finds it and hiding it beneath the table. Haymitch glances up, looking around erratically.

"W-where is my drink?" He questions in annoyance.

"What, you mean your bottle of straight alcohol? You finished it already," I insist. His expression turns sad, as he clenches his fist with a sigh.

"Damn it," he mutters bitterly. Before I can respond, the door swings open, with a Peacekeeper revealing himself in the doorway.

"Your presence is both required, the Reaping will commence in five minutes," the man orders, before marching off, leaving the two of us isolated. I glance at Haymitch, who leans his cheek against his fist.

"Well, are you ready?" I ask. Haymitch looks at me for a moment, before he holds up a finger to signify he wants a second. He then proceeds to grab the trashcan, and heave the contents of his stomach directly inside. His projectile hurl is almost entirely clear, as if it could be rebottled without question. I can't help but cringe at the sound and the act itself, I've seen much worse but it's not exactly a pleasant act. Not to mention the smell of raw tequila that emits odiously from the trash can like toxic waste; it's enough to send my nostrils to the hospital.

"Alright we're done here, let's go before I lose my breakfast as well," I groan from underneath my hand, before I grab Haymitch by the shirt with my other, and begin dragging him out of the room.

"Now Haymitch, please just sit and do nothing, we don't need you to repeat the events of the 74th Reaping - not to mention your body probably can't handle a fall like that nowadays," I speak up. Haymitch laughs deeply, snickering at the memory.

"One of my finer moments, if I recall correctly," he grins.

"Sure thing buddy," I sigh, choosing not to push it any further. In all honesty, it's most likely that Haymitch will fall asleep in his chair. Sure, it's not a very good look, but the Capitol audience pays very little attention to Haymitch these days. He's just another forgotten Victor, despite him winning a Quarter Quell.

We reach the front door to the building, with Haymitch having to use my shoulder as momentary support. Through the window, I can see our aged Mayor speaking to the crowd, most likely about the Dark Days and the same old crap. Before too long, I see two Peacekeepers beginning to walk up to the door, which can only mean they intend to introduce us.

"Please don't make a fool out of yourself Haymitch, the last thing we need is to be considered a joke again," I plead, moments before the doors open. As they begin to swing open, Haymitch grins at me, chuckling to himself.

"Kid, I may be a drunkard, but this isn't my first rodeo." With those words, Haymitch begins to stroll on forward with his arms in the air, as the Mayor announces his name as well as describing the Hunger Games that he won.

"It's Dusk, not kid," I reply defeated, undoubtedly out of earshot. I tsk loudly, before I straighten up and await my name. Once Haymitch makes it to his seat, the Mayor begins to introduce me, which I follow up by striding forward, politely waving at the cameras with a rather blank expression. It's hard to conjure up a happy emotion on such a day, and I've never been good at acting. If anything, I'm rather bitterly truthful.

The crowd acknowledges me with a respectable round of applause, as I sit beside Haymitch who already lays limp, eyes drifting into a world of slumber. I snort in amusement, before I begin to pay attention to the Mayor who appears to be wrapping up his speech. Sure enough, when I begin to hear his words, he is starting to begin his final introduction.

"Now of course, this Reaping couldn't happen without our final inclusion! Can everyone please give a warm welcome to our wonderful Escort, Wonder Lavrest!" The Mayor announces with fake enthusiasm. Everyone turns as Wonder skips out in excitement, gleefully waving at the cameras and watching herself on the giant screen. Of course, Wonder has always been quite the narcissist, having spent most Reaping's focused on her appearance rather than caring for the tributes she reaps.

Effie Trinket was still my Escort back when I was a tribute, and had given up hope a few years beforehand. She hadn't given me a fair chance, so when I came out victorious, she saw it as a promotional opportunity. When she still wasn't given the chance to Escort a more successful District, she quit the job, leaving us with the much younger Wonder. To this day, I still don't know who I consider to be a worse Escort, but year-by-year Wonder is making that decision all the more easier.

"Good afternoon everyone! Who else is excited? I know I sure am!" Wonder speaks up, playing with her cotton candy pink hair with one hand, while examining herself using the giant screen. She receives no response from the crowd, although she doesn't appear to really notice nor care. She takes a few seconds to make sure her hair is long and pristine, before eventually appearing to pay attention to what she's meant to be doing.

"So the time has come once again, to select our lucky young tributes for the opportunity of a lifetime, to compete for glory and riches beyond their wildest dreams!" Wonder exclaims, her azure blue eyes widening with enthusiasm.

"The way we select that is of course by a random draw. The two bowls in front of me contain a tribute in each, and now without further distraction, we shall see who will be the fighting for their lives, in the greatest Game on the planet!" Wonder smiles. Immediately following her words, she begins the Reaping process, as she reaches the first bowl - the female one - and digs her hand deep inside. From the depths of the pile, her hand emerges, now carrying a singular slip within it. My eyes scan over the crowd, seeing the glum, weary expressions of those that await their fate. I feel a pang of despair at the sight of them, wanting for nothing but the safety of these children.

As Wonder makes her way back to the microphone, I can't help but feel helpless. I eye the slip of paper in dread, feeling turmoil at the likely fate of the individual on that paper slip. Not one tribute from District 12 has survived the Bloodbath since I won, not a single one in the eighteen Games that have played out. If that's anything to go by, whoever's name is on this paper will be dead within the first few minutes of the Games.

I ready myself as Wonder reaches for the microphone, continuing to watch herself as she makes a big show of unfolding the paper. She pauses before reading it, a prolonged pause that allows a sudden snore from Haymitch to startle me. I'm about to slap his knee, however I'm cut off by Wonder's words.

"District 12's female tribute for the 99th Hunger Games is . . . Elyanna Aspen."

It's almost instantaneous. As soon as Elyanna's name has been announced, people already begin to distance themselves from the poor girl. In no time at all, a circle has formed around Elyanna, who stands frozen in the eighteen year-old section. Initially she stands still, looking rather dumbstruck having heard her name come from Wonder's mouth. It's only a few moments later, when she glances around and sees everyone's eyes on her, that she begins to slowly make her way forward without a word.

As she gets closer I begin to see her features a little better. She appears to be very petite, with a willowy figure that suggests she's younger than she really is. Her height doesn't help her case either, appearing to be shorter than the average, possibly about 5'4". As she glances around, and turning her head to do so, I get a good look at her long, strawberry blonde hair, which are held in two tight braids that fall down to her lower back. When she looks up at Wonder, I see her facial features; a heart shaped face, with cupid bow lips, light brown eyes, long lashes, a small nose, and strangely pale skin. All of these features make her quite a pretty girl, almost appearing delicate in a way, to the point that my heart just shatters.

To think that statistics make it likely that this girl won't even make it past the Bloodbath, how am I supposed to even make eye contact with her? I breathe deeply, forcing myself to look directly at her. She eventually meets my gaze - to which I make sure is comforting and hopeful - before she appears to close her eyes for a moment and sigh. Year after year, I've failed to show my tributes my faith in them. Despite knowing the likely outcome, perhaps I have been apart of the problem.

"Congratulations Elyanna! How does it feel to be a District 12 tribute for the 99th Hunger Games?" Wonder questions, holding the microphone to Elyanna's lips. Elyanna looks taken aback, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times before she finally speaks up.

"I uh - I feel . . . honored," Elyanna responds, appearing to force the final word out. Interesting, she's trying to appease the Capitol - quite a wise move. Wonder seems satisfied with that answer, appearing to smile at her, before putting a hand on her hip.

"That's great to hear Elyanna, we all look forward to seeing your efforts!" Wonder exclaims, before turning towards the audience. "But that's not all folks, we still have one final tribute, to round off our twenty-four. Please watch as we select the second tribute representing District 12."

Wonder smirks into the camera, before striding forward towards the second glass bowl. Elyanna has a brief flash of relief pass over her face, perhaps over the fact that Wonder hasn't interrogated her any further. However, that expression soon shifts to fear, as she watches out for who will be Reaped alongside her. Wonder wastes no time in choosing a slip, this time grabbing one from near the top before quickly pulling it out of the bowl. She makes an act of holding it up in the air, as if she is living some dramatic theatrical moment, before finally making her way back towards the microphone, to reveal the second tribute.

I'm not sure what to expect from this selection, normally District 12 males are scrawny, underfed, and on the young side. Getting an older tribute for a change would be nice, but seeing as the odds are never really in District 12's favor, the likelihood is that Elyanna could be joined by a malnourished twelve year-old.

Keeping this in mind, I hold my breath as Wonder clears her throat, before calling out the name in a loud, clear tone.

"The District 12 male tribute for the 99th Annual Hunger Games will be - Zander Hoxley!"

It takes a moment for anything significant to happen, as I assume Zander comes to terms with his dilemma. Everybody begins to look around, trying to catch a first glimpse of Zander, who is yet to make himself known. Luckily, before too long, people begin to shift around in the sixteen year-old section, making a clear path for Zander who stands at the opposite end of the path.

He holds his head up high, beginning to stride forward with a confident sort of poise. I can't help but feel the surprise ripple through my body, seeing somebody look so calm after their name has been Reaped - and from his appearance, he may be able to back it up.

Zander is rather average in height for a sixteen year-old, and doesn't have an excessive amount of muscle to him, which is expected of a District 12 citizen. However, his physique is undoubtedly fit, he appears reasonably athletic which could definitely be a good sign. His hair is a dark black tone, with it being short and straight in form, and rather neatly kept. His light, hazel eyes appear determined, and his sharp jaw holds a promising smile on it.

This kid . . . this could be someone I can work with. Not only him, but Elyanna as well; perhaps, not all is lost.

Zander reaches the stage, before standing beside Wonder and glancing at the cameras that zoom in on him. Even Wonder, as self-obsessed as she is, has taken a notice to Zander. It would seem even she realizes this is a different kind of District 12 tribute.

"Well Zander, you're looking reasonably determined! Tell me, what's going on in your head right now?" Wonder questions, sounding intrigued.

"There's no point in dwelling on it Wonder, I have to move ahead," he responds, putting it quite simply. I nod my head, pursing my lips in agreement; it's not a bad mindset to have. Wonder also appears satisfied with his answer, nodding her head in response before turning to the audience.

"Wise words coming from young Zander Hoxley here! And with those words, the Reaping draws closer to completion. Before we go, there's only one thing left to do!" Wonder exclaims, before guiding both Elyanna and Zander towards one another. Without saying anything, the pair both take each other's hand and shake, showing mutual acts of respect which I internally am grateful for. Some of my past tributes have been so dysfunctional, that they refused to even speak to one another.

Once the pair has shaken hands, Wonder steps in front of them to draw the attention to her once again.

"District 12, these are your tributes for the 99th Annual Hunger Games! Elyanna Aspen, and Zander Hoxley! I look forward to seeing you all next year for the Quarter Quell!" Wonder cries out, before smiling into the camera. The crowd responds with a surprisingly supportive round of applause; perhaps they see the potential in these two as well.

Before Zander and Elyanna have a chance to realize what is happening, a flock of Peacekeepers surrounds each of them, going on to escort them away to say their final goodbyes. Wonder follows closely behind them, leaving it up to the Mayor to conclude the Reaping and dismiss the crowd.

I begin to stand up, taking one final look at Haymitch, who has surprisingly woken up; probably due to the noise. I nod at him in acknowledgment, as his eyes meet my own.

"Well, enjoy locking yourself up in your house again. I guess I'll see you next year," I speak up, causing him to sit up with a grunt.

"You know, usually I don't even watch the Games when they're on TV. But maybe this year we have a real shot," he replies, to my surprise. I raise an eyebrow, folding my arms as I look at him.

"Do you actually think so?" I question in disbelief. He chuckles, before somehow managing to stand up and meet me at eye level.

"I've seen it once before, and they both almost won," he whispers, proceeding to take a step back, before waving lazily and stumbling down the ramp to the stage. I glance over at the Justice Building where I last had a visual image of Zander and Elyanna. These two are unlike the traditional District 12 tributes that I mentor . . . perhaps Haymitch is right. Maybe this is our year.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Uh . . . Hey everyone! I'm not really sure how to start off this note, but I guess there's only one thing that needs to be addressed. I am so awfully sorry about how long it took to update this story. It has been far too long since I have posted a chapter, and it's just unacceptable on my behalf. I wish I had a credible excuse, but I have to say that it was a mix of two things. The first, I was so burnt out from Uni that when I finished for the semester, I really didn't have the energy to write for a while. The second reason, I simply had writers block. I have made so many plans for the future of this story, but for this chapter, it just got to a point where it became repetitive to write after nine Reaping's already.**

**Beyond this chapter, I'm ready to get really stuck into this story. We are finally through all of the Reaping's, and now we begin with the Capitol Pre-Game phase of the story, almost all through the eyes of your tributes! I'm really excited to establish everything, so expect the next chapter to come out a lot sooner than this one did. Be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter, and now that all of the mentors and tributes have been introduced, feel free to share your favourites or the most memorable ones, if you remember of course. I know many of you would have forgotten about tributes from earlier chapters, so I'm going to try my best to reintroduce everyone in rapid succession over the next few chapters.**

**Next chapter will be named **_**Train Ride I: Feuds**_**, and will feature four tribute POV's, those tributes being Andromache Poyner (D2), Malik Durbe (D7), Lucille Fforde (D6), and Slane Ampersand (D5). Please check out my profile for updates, as I tend to post the current status of the chapter on there. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to never take so long to release another chapter again.**

**-Winter**


	10. Train Ride I: Feuds

**Train Ride I**

_Feuds_

* * *

**Andromache Poyner**

**~18~**

**District 2**

* * *

Looking out of the car window is surreal, with the flashing lights and waving arms all overwhelming my perception. There are so many excitable people; I've never seen something like this in person. I can't help but frown a little, knowing what these reporters and photographers expect of me. What is it they expect, one may ask? Perhaps they suspect a vicious and conniving girl from District 2? Or a girl that is ready to spill blood for her Capitol overlords? I snort, amused by the idea.

These idiot paparazzi, they have no idea what I'm all about. Expectations, rules, they want me to fall under line with that? Little do they know, I'm designed to defy; I play by my own rules.

Glancing to my side, I look over at Thanatos as he stares out of the window. His eyes are determined, and I haven't seen him crack a smile since he volunteered. I say 'volunteered' quite lightly, as in actuality he basically stole somebody else's chance at volunteering. I know for a fact that many would despise him for that, it's a borderline sin to do such a thing in District 2.

Personally, I'm rather impressed. I know very little of Thanatos; I've seen him around the Academy, but I've never paid too much attention to him because I've never had any personal involvement with him. We are from the same age group, but that is where the similarities end. He uses a different weapon, he trains with different people, hell I don't even think we've made eye contact before today.

The boy he volunteered over, Reign Draconia, is someone I'm a little more familiar with. He is quite popular in the Academy, and I must admit - we've had a fling or two at some Academy parties. Now that I recall, I don't believe Thanatos has really attended any of the parties that have been held. Just what kind of person is he?

Regardless, I should be thankful he volunteered over Reign. With my personal connection to Reign, it may have been slightly more difficult to kill him if it came down to it. However with Thanatos, there is yet to be any connection between the two of us. The only opinion I currently have of him is that I respect him for volunteering. He clearly doesn't abide by the rules either, and that's something I can get behind.

A few moments pass before Thanatos looks away from the window, before glancing at me with his caramel colored eyes. I stare back at him, never being one to back down from eye contact, before I smirk at him, causing him to look away. It would seem he isn't the most sociable person in the world.

Someone who _is_ sociable on the other hand, is our Escort, Wisteria. She sits in the front seat, chatting non-stop about how eventful the Reaping was and how excited the Capitol must be to see us. It would seem that neither Thanatos nor I, have really paid her much attention. However, before too long, Wisteria turns her head, facing where I am seated, that being the back right seat of the car. She smiles warmly at me, before she glances at Thanatos and does the same thing.

"Alright you two, we're here!" She sings, before unbuckling her seat belt. I do the same as I glance back outside the window, noticing the number of reporters have increased significantly as we have arrived at the carport of the Train Station.

"Now I must warn the two of you, they will bombard you with questions, and will likely misconstrue anything you say just so they can make headlines. I recommend keeping quiet, but certainly smile and wave at them . . . maybe blow a few kisses," Wisteria grins, winking at me with that last statement. I chuckle in return, before glancing at Thanatos.

"Make sure to do that Thanatos, something tells me that's your specialty!" I joke, causing Wisteria to snicker. Thanatos side-glances me, before rolling his eyes and unbuckling his seat belt.

"Ha, ha, very funny," he replies sarcastically, this notably being the first thing he's said since he left the stage. Before I have the chance to add another snide comment, both of our doors are opened by Peacekeepers, allowing a roar of noise to flood the car. I didn't expect it to be this intense; the flashing lights, the raised voices of reporters and paparazzi, all trying to get into my face as we exit the car. I squint my eyes, needing to hold up an arm to shield my face from the commotion. I see bodies of white surround me, causing me to lower my arm. I'm met with the sight of a wall of Peacekeeper's, backs turned to me as they protect me from the swarm of people.

"That's a little better," I mutter, before remembering what Wisteria recommended. I begin to wave at the paparazzi, grinning toothily as they take my photo and shout out questions. I can't even pinpoint individual queries; it's all a blend of noise with the odd 'Andromache' or 'Miss Poyner', sprinkled throughout. Thankfully, it's not too long before one of the Peacekeepers cuts me from their view, as he guides me towards the train door that waits openly. Wisteria already stands in the doorway, speaking with the few reporters that have decided to question her rather than Thanatos or myself.

Speaking of the devil, when I look on the other side of the car to see what he is doing, I see him standing still, allowing the photographers to take pictures of him, and surprisingly holding a softer of expression compared to the grimace he has held since we left the Justice Building.

He certainly isn't trying to play into the Capitol's enthusiasm - he is simply remaining passive. It's an interesting approach, one that suggests that Thanatos is confident without the Capitol behind him. This is certainly something to keep in mind. I on the other hand, have no issues with the Capitol loving me; so as I turn to the reporters one last time, I blow a kiss towards the big camera at the front. To my surprise, a few paparazzi leap forward to try and catch my imaginary kiss, with one even stumbling over and falling flat on his face. I can't help but giggle, as I'm tugged inside of the train car, and concealed by the doors that close behind me.

"That's much better," Thanatos breathes in relief, the silence bringing a calm, serene feeling over the moment. Wisteria turns to us, her hands grasped together in excitement.

"Alright you two, we won't reach the Capitol until tomorrow, so now it's time to get situated with your home for the next day!" Wisteria exclaims, before leading the way down a slim hallway. I can't help but notice how quiet it is, perhaps due to the lack of movement from the train, but surely also due to the lack of people.

"Hey Wisteria, where is our mentor? Where is everyone else?" I question as we walk.

"Your mentors, plural," Wisteria corrects me. "Remember, Romulus is your mentor, but Cato is teaching him."

Thanatos huffs at her words, shaking his head bitterly.

"Great, Romulus is here . . ." He grunts, causing me to smirk.

"Hey, we won't be alone, Cato is a good mentor," I point out.

"That's the spirit Andromache!" Wisteria beams, before stopping just ahead of me. She turns around excitedly, with Thanatos peering out from behind me.

"So are you ready?" She questions.

"I guess? What's the big deal?" I respond. Wisteria moves out of the way, motioning for us to go past her.

"See for yourself."

I roll my eyes, before strolling past her, only to stop dead in my tracks upon seeing the room.

"Oh my . . ." I gasp, truly astonished by the sight I see. I feel Thanatos stumble into my back as I stop moving, causing him to grunt.

"Hey! What's the big ide - woah," he cuts himself off, joining me at my side as he absorbs the room we stand in. It truly has to be the most decadent room I've ever set foot into, it trumps anything I've ever seen first hand. District 2 isn't poor by any means, but nobody owns property like this! Not even the Justice Building compares to the interior of this train.

Thanatos seems to read my thoughts, because as he steps forward, he gawks at the interior with an open mouth.

"Th-this is just the train?!" He whispers in awe. This is the most emotion I've seen him make, it's nice to see he isn't some emotionless robot.

"Can you imagine what the Capitol is like?" I add on to his sentence as I wander forward, almost in a daze. The words escape my lips without me even realizing it, allowing Wisteria to answer my internal thoughts.

"Andromache dear, you are not prepared for what the Capitol has to offer," she laughs, placing a hand on my shoulder. I continue to look around the room, taking in every single inch. Where do I even begin to describe it?

Sleek white walls are what house us, with a circuit of fluorescent blue light lighting up the walls in seemingly random positions. These lights pulsate, and move around very slowly which leads me to believe they're customizable. Large, tinted windows reveal a perfect view of the outside world; a world to which I am alarmed to discovers whizzes by at hundreds of miles an hour. We must have left without me even realizing it, it barely feels like the train is moving. The interior walls that don't separate us from the outside world are etched with gold engravings that shimmer against the light from both the sun and the fluorescent interior.

The floor is made up of the softest, shaggy carpet I've ever seen, that is colored a cool grey that contrasts any color on the walls. I kneel down, feeling the carpet with my hands, and failing to stifle a moan of surprise.

"It's so soft . . . I want to take my shoes off!" I exclaim.

"I've already done that," Thanatos brags, causing me to scowl at him. As I stand up, I continue to observe the rest of the room. Plush sofa's that your body would just sink into, massage chairs with control panels made up of rows of buttons, a screen that almost takes up an entire wall that I can only assume is a television, not to mention the longest table of extravagant food that I'll likely ever see. I walk up to it, the mouth-watering aromas beginning to waft over and invade my nose. So many foods that I never thought I would have the chance to try, and even more foods that I didn't even know existed.

"This is crazy," I whisper, turning around to Wisteria. Doing so, I notice that Thanatos has joined my side at the table, with his face stuffed full of chocolate-coated strawberries. I shoot him a disapproving look, before he shrugs at me and continues to chew.

"What? I'm hungry," he justifies with a mouth full of food.

"Dude, it's been two minutes since we've even been here," I shake my head.

"It's good to see you two settling in!"

A deep, male voice that certainly doesn't belong to Wisteria fills the room, causing both Thanatos and I to whisk around to the source. Appearing from the corridor opposite the one that we entered from, emerges a tall muscular blonde man, followed by two more people that I instantly recognize. The man smiles at us, while the other two join either side of him, the first being a girl who holds her hands to her hips, and the second person being a universally despised douchebag.

"I think it's about time we became better acquainted. I'm sure you guys already know me as Cato," the man grins, before taking a seat on one of the plush red sofas. "Come join us over here."

Thanatos and I glance at one another, before making our way over to the sofa parallel to the three of them. I sit down lazily, leaning back with my arms folded as I sink in to the comfy surface, whilst Thanatos sits down hesitantly, leaning forward and looking alert. Wisteria strides past us, heading towards the other corridor that Cato and the other two Victors had emerged from. She gives us all a smile before speaking up.

"I'll leave you five to talk, I'm going to watch whatever Reaping is live right now!" She informs us, before disappearing behind the doorframe. I glance back at Cato, who leans forward and clears his throat.

"So congratulations you two, on becoming tributes for District 2! I'm sure you're aware of the honor it brings," Cato grins.

"Yeah, how about that huh? Honor . . ." Romulus speaks up, eyeing down Thanatos a little too obviously. Cato rolls his eyes, before directing his hand towards the direction of Romulus.

"This of course is Romulus, he won last year as we are all very well aware of, and I will be teaching him how to mentor - hopefully," Cato explains. Romulus sits back, sneering at nobody in particular.

"Pfft, teaching, as if I couldn't do it myself," he hisses.

"Romulus how about you shut up and let Cato speak?" The girl speaks up, glaring at Romulus from the other side of Cato. I can't help but smile at her, impressed by her lack of restraint. Romulus appears ready to retort, however Cato holds up a hand to warn him to shut up, causing him to grumble colorful words under his breath.

"Also as you may have noticed, Demi will be joining us this year. Caroline Snow has introduced new regulations that allow Victor's to travel to the Capitol for Hunger Games related purposes. So if you feel the need to speak to anyone about strategy, she is someone you can seek out," Cato informs us. Demi smiles at us, causing me to nod my head in approval. I've always like Demi, and it will certainly be easier to tolerate someone like Romulus when she is around to keep him in check.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," I respond, with Thanatos nodding in agreement. Cato smiles, glancing down at the ground.

"Great, well . . . I think it would be beneficial for us to get to know you guys a bit, so tell us - what was your reasoning for volunteering?"

Why did I volunteer? That's an interesting question, one that I don't see as beneficial to reveal, as it is so simple that it won't affect their attempt at mentoring me. However, I do suppose it's no harm for my mentors to develop an understanding of me.

With that being said, my reasons are rather straightforward. I want freedom. I know, it sounds like an oxymoron; entering the Hunger Games to seek freedom is rather contradictory. Yet, it's so much more than that. All of my life I've felt constrained, limited, held back by boundaries and expectations. My parents were so set in their traditional ways, the type that left little room for exploration. I've always had to meet requirements just to satisfy them, I've always had to amount to the Poyner surname, the top of District 2 society.

The truth is, these shackling feelings drained me of joy. I was so bored with my life, and with all of this focus my parents pressured me into putting on training at the Academy, it only hit me recently that I had a way out. Of course, over the years I haven't been a model trainee, I've ditched combat sessions, taken shortcuts, and fooled around more often than I would like to admit.

Upon finding out some of my lackluster efforts, my parents forced me into an ultimatum; focus on putting effort into training, or lose their support and fend for myself. At the time, it was an easy decision - I was far too young to be on my own, I simply just had to take training a little more seriously, right? In doing so, I improved, I got better - a lot better. Then one day it hit me; that it was all for naught.

What was the point if I was never going to be a tribute? I was losing my identity by conforming to my parent's demands, and I wasn't even guaranteed a role as a tribute. That was a turning point, and after that, I started thinking even more. A life worth living is one where I'm not being dictated by my parents, by societal expectations; these thoughts made me realize something. I would rather die as a tribute, fighting for my freedom, rather than live as a puppet for my family, dependent and submissive.

Of course, it isn't all doom and gloom, because I'm a fighter. I can always win this thing, earn my title as a Victor, and live my own way in District 2 - with the exception of Hunger Games related duties. Hell, even that would be more adventurous than the mundane life I would be living back in Two. As a Victor, the world would be my canvas, and I the paintbrush - I could explore who I really am.

As I look to my side, I see Thanatos looking intently at the ground, his face as serious as ever. I would really like to know his reasoning for volunteering, in fact it would seem all four of us do. When I glance at the Victor's, the three of them all stare at Thanatos, waiting for his response. I can already tell that Thanatos doesn't seem all too keen on sharing, so I decide to break the ice.

"Uh, well what I shared at the Reaping was pretty much my reasoning," I speak up, causing Cato and Demi to glance over at me.

"You're Castor Poyner's daughter right?" Demi questions. I raise an eyebrow in response, putting a knee over the other as I fold my arms.

"Oh, so you know him?" I respond.

"We do, he is a major investor of the Career Academy after all," Cato mentions. I chuckle, realizing that my father has probably met with a few Victor's over the years.

"Yeah well, he is a bit of a hard ass," I grin. Demi and Cato both chuckle at this, whilst Romulus doesn't even crack a smile.

"Maybe just a bit," Demi smirks.

"Oh who cares?" Romulus spits, standing up abruptly. Cato sighs in response, as Demi rolls her eyes.

"Speaking of being a hard ass . . ." Cato mutters. An angry flash becomes visible in Romulus' eye, as his head snaps to Cato.

"Shut up Cato, let's be real here. We all want to know why _he_ volunteered!" Romulus growls, before pointing a finger at Thanatos. Thanatos grits his teeth as he stares directly at Romulus, whilst Demi, Cato and I all glance directly at Thanatos. Although Demi and Cato seem like the type to usually defuse such a situation, it's clear that the three of us are all indeed curious as to why Thanatos stole someone else's spot.

Romulus walks over slowly, brushing past me before standing directly over Thanatos. He stands still for a moment, as Thanatos looks directly up at him, clenching his fists at his side. Cato sits forward, clearing his throat to break the tension.

"Guys . . . Calm dow-"

"Zip it Cato, I think it's about time he spilled the beans," Romulus hisses, before turning back to Thanatos. "What was it that you said you volunteered for? 'To bring someone back to you'? Tell me Thanos, what does that mean?"

With those words, Thanatos slowly gets to his feet, standing up tall so that he is eye to eye with Romulus. The two stand tensed, as Thanatos clenches his fists at his side, looking ready to strike Romulus in an instant. Instead, he says only a few words.

"My name is Thanatos."

Romulus snorts, before stepping back and raising his arms.

"Who the fuck cares what your name is - answer me! What did you mean by what you said?" Romulus cries out, causing Cato to stand up.

"Okay I think this is going too far now, he doesn't need to answer if he doesn't feel comfortable," Cato defends.

"He stole someone else's spot, the least he could do is explain himself!" Romulus roars, before Cato begins to direct him away.

"Look I'm sorry about Romulus, we will speak later at dinner, maybe use this time to settle into your rooms," Cato calls out, before forcing a riled up Romulus down the corridor and out of sight. I glance up at Thanatos, who visibly shakes from what I can only assume is rage, with veins running up and down his arms as he continues to clench his fists.

"I'm going to find my room, I need to clear my head," Thanatos mutters darkly, before disappearing down the same route Wisteria went. This leaves me alone with Demi, who flashes me a 'that just happened' expression.

"Remind me not to piss him off in the arena," I joke, causing Demi to smirk.

"I would say that's a good idea. I do have to wonder though, why did he volunteer?" She questions. I glance back at where Thanatos disappeared, folding my arms with a frown.

"I'm wondering the same thing."

* * *

**Malik Durbe**

**~17~**

**District 7**

* * *

The trees disappeared a while ago now. They were a comforting thing to see, to make me remember that I was close to home, but now that has long since passed. The green blur that had amassed in the windows as the train sped by the forests of District 7, has been replaced by much more snowy and rockier terrain. The skies are a clear blue, but even the sun couldn't warm the icy chill in the air when I stepped outside of the train carriage earlier.

So I remain in the train, sunken into the cushiony couch with the heaters on full blast, watching the outside world as we undoubtedly disembark from District 7. Where are we now? District 2? District 5? I have no idea. We never have been told what District's border our own.

All I can do is narrow it down. We couldn't be anywhere near District's 4, 9, 10, or 11, and District 1 is unlikely as I've heard it's the closest District to the Capitol. I would consider asking our Escort, or perhaps even Rowan, however neither are anywhere to be seen.

"Oh well, it's not that important," I mutter to myself, before propping the rest of my body up on the couch so I can lie down. When I do so, I get a view behind me, only to discover that Amazon watches me from her seat at the table. I can't help but feel a chill run down my spine when I see her, the way she looks at me is nothing short of loathing. I don't exactly know why; to my knowledge I haven't ever met her - perhaps she just isn't a sociable person?

When I look closer however, I can't help but notice that she plays with a steak knife as she watches me, flipping it between her fingers with a consistent rhythm only possible through practice, or a repeated use. I can't help but raise an eyebrow at her, never being one to be intimidated.

"Are you alright there Amazon? You look a little . . . peeved," I speak up. As I await an answer, Amazon continues to stare at me, the only sounds coming from her being the metallic flick of the knife. I frown at her lack of a response, before I groan and stand up to walk closer to her. Perhaps it's the distance between us, a closer vicinity might make her more willing to speak.

I stand a short distance away, leaning against the back of the couch as I stare her down just as she does to me. It's clear that she's not going to speak first, so I decide to try again.

"How long have you been staring at me?" I question, my voice a lot quieter now. A serious tone oozes from my voice, perhaps enlightening Amazon to my usual impatience. To my surprise, she actually speaks.

"Since Rowan left - I always watch my enemies," she says softly. I can't help but scowl at her words, folding my arms in response. Enemy? She's already considering me an enemy? There isn't any malice in her voice, yet she's so hostile at the same time; what is up with her?

"Yeah, well you might want to stop that. I don't take kindly to people staring me down," I inform her, a slight sneer emerging on my face. I'm taken aback slightly, when Amazon snorts a small laugh, looking down and away from me for the first time.

"You're implying that I care what you think? How presumptuous of you," she leers at me. I clench my fist at her words, struggling to contain the rage that builds up inside of me. I don't like being disrespected; it's something I just can't tolerate. Most who do disrespect me learn quite quickly that they're better off treating me with respect, rather than receiving the physical backlash that I have been known for.

The problem is, I can't lay a damn finger on Amazon; not if I don't want to face some serious repercussions. Before the 79th Hunger Games, a tribute killed their District partner when they lost control of their anger. They had only just arrived at the Capitol, meaning the Games were still about a week off. It's safe to say, the Capitol made sure that tribute went into the arena with the worst possible physical disadvantages possible. Funnily enough, the replacement tribute ended up taking out the murderer, claiming vengeance on behalf of their District.

So that means I'm best off not harming a hair of Amazon's head, which is agonizingly difficult for my pride right now. Amazon seems to know this, as she eyes me again with hostile eyes, a smirk now beginning to form on her face. I turn away from her, facing my back towards her as I grit my teeth in frustration. It's all I can do to not pummel her in the nose; seeing her face just pisses me off.

When I glance down at my hands, I see how white my knuckles have become, as my fingers clutch onto the back of the couch tightly. I relax them a little, breathing deeply as I attempt to calm down my annoyance. I can't allow this girl to get to me, she's just an obstacle, but I can take her out easily if I need to.

Except . . . can I? My mind flashes back to the Reaping, shortly before I had volunteered. To my surprise, someone else volunteers for the female tributes role. I don't expect to see someone like Amazon stride forward to the stage, someone athletic, someone passionate - someone dangerous. Even when I shook her hand, she squeezed _hard._ She seemed like she was making it her mission to show her dominance, despite my crushing grip that inevitably made her gasp in pain. That surely wasn't going to trigger a blooming friendship, if anything, that's probably what set her against me.

However, regardless of my inherent dislike of her, it may be in my best interest to try and get along with her - dare I say try and sway her to my cause?

"Why did you volunteer? What's your purpose exactly?" I grunt, still not facing Amazon. I picture how she may have reacted to my question, possibly surprised that I cared enough to ask, more than likely continuing to glare at my back, emanating pure hatred with her gaze. It takes a few seconds for her to answer, but inevitably she does.

"You should have been listening when I volunteered," she replies bluntly. I squeeze my eyes shut out of frustration, internally kicking myself for not volunteering next year. Why am I trying to converse with this girl? It's like talking to a brick wall, is she even worth it?

"It's not that fucking difficult to repeat," I raise my voice, spinning around to face her again. She hasn't changed positions; she still sits slouched over the table, flipping that disturbingly sharp knife. I take a step closer, my fists balled by my side, causing her to take a tighter grip on the knife. I stop for a moment, staring at the knife, before stifling a laugh, and straightening my posture.

"What, are you going to stab me already?" I hiss, as her face becomes serious.

"I'm going to say it like it is Durbe, I don't trust you. I've heard about the things you've done, and I fully intend to make you accountable for your actions," Amazon responds, surprisingly calm. I lean back, eyeing her down suspiciously.

"Oh, so you know who I am?" I question softly. She tilts her head at me, before standing up from her seat.

"Yeah I know about you Malik. I know that you're a criminal," she replies, an expression of disgust arising in her face. I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her knowledge of me. Sure, it was a very broad statement; but it isn't too far off of the truth. That is of course, the truth defined by the law.

My truth is that I don't see myself as a criminal; I only do what is necessary, what I need to do. Amazon wouldn't know about that, I'm willing to bet she's never been on the brink of starvation, of desperation; her physique is too athletic, too well developed. She may know of some things I've done, but she doesn't know who I am. I stare at her for a moment, waiting to see how she reacts to my silence, however she does not crack.

_No, that would be too uncharacteristic from what she's displayed so far,_ I think bitterly. Instead, I take a different approach; I smile at her. To my delight, Amazon actually displays something other than hatred or taunts, as she seems slightly surprised that I smile. Perhaps she expected an outburst, for me to get angry at such an accusation, but in my opinion, what's the point of trying to prove myself to her? She'll be dead within the fortnight, and her opinion won't matter. My eyes meet her surprised ones, before she appears to regain composure; an accusatory glare taking ahold of her once more.

"Criminal by definition, I suppose so. In the grand scheme of things, I wouldn't be forced to do what I do if the Capitol weren't such oppressors - but here we are," I respond. Amazon glares at me, before turning her head slightly, breaking our eye contact.

"But here we are," she repeats quietly, before glancing at me again. "It still doesn't excuse what you've done."

This time, I simply roll my eyes, amused by her stance. What is it exactly that I have done? I help traffic morphling, to put it simplistically. Of course, it may get a little more muddy than that general description, as the role that I play in the industry is much less to do with the selling and acquiring aspects, but more so the enforcer side of things. I've heard that people refer to me as 'the collector', as my role is to collect debt money, and protection payments. The people I work for, I'm their lap dog in a sense, because when they don't get their money - they send me to do their dirty work.

I think back to the times I have knocked on someone's door, or waited by a persons usual bar visit, just knowing that things were about to get messy. It's not something I liked to do, but it was the only thing I seemed to be good at. My size, my stature, my intimidation, it all worked to give me a reasonably well off income, despite the methods.

It wasn't who I wanted to be though. I never could bring myself to kill anyone in those interactions, ironic considering the situation I've flung myself into now, but at least this will be fulfilling. I never could have escaped that life if I didn't allow myself to volunteer, so when I came into contact with Johanna Mason, it took me very little convincing.

Now, I stand tall above another competitor, one that thinks they know me enough to judge my character, simply by things I have done in the past. It doesn't matter to her that if I tried to get out, I would have been killed. It doesn't matter that all I've ever wanted is a better life for myself. All I'll ever be to Amazon, is a criminal.

"When did you become the judge to my crimes?" I question her in amusement. Amazon puts her hands on her hips, as she stares up at me with the utmost serious expression.

"I became the judge, jury, and executioner of all sinners in the Hunger Games, the moment Johanna Mason cast that honor upon me," she replies darkly, causing my face to fall.

"Hold on . . . Johanna convinced you to volunteer as well?" I question blankly. This time, it's Amazon's turn to look confused, her demeanor drastically shifting as she stares at me in confusion.

"Sh-she convinced you to volunteer?" she stammers. I nod my head in response, as Amazon stares down at the floor, trying to rationalize this idea. It's not too long, before Amazon glances back up at me, glee apparent in her face.

"I see, she must have known about your crimes as well - she must have wanted me to take you out. It's a shame you aren't my primary target," she mutters, causing me to fold my arms.

"Who might your main target be then?" I question. She's acting awfully cocky before even seeing the rest of our competition; hell I should be enough to intimidate her, yet she refuses to even acknowledge me as a possible threat. With this in mind, I'm able to guess rather easily who her main targets may be, although I don't have to wait too long before my suspicions are confirmed.

"The Careers," she replies bitterly, her hushed tone only just audible to my ears. "The ones that train to kill others, the ones that enter for pure enjoyment, they all must be eliminated - they don't deserve to win."

It's with these words, that I grin from ear to ear, unable to contain my pure amusement at her intentions. She eyes me suspiciously, before slowly sitting back down in her seat.

"What? Why are you smiling like that?" She questions in annoyance. I chuckle, before stepping forward and pulling out a chair opposite from her, and collapsing onto it with a thud. I lean back, deciding how I intend to break the news to her.

"Well, it's funny that you say that," I grin.

"How?"

"It just so happens that I plan to join the Careers," I smirk at her, the words softly escaping my lips. Amazon sits frozen, eyes boring into my skull as she rests her hands on the table. I can't help but notice the fact that just like mine had a few minutes ago, Amazon's fists have clenched, with her caramel colored knuckles draining slightly of the exotic color they had prior. I notice her jaw has clenched as well, as she grinds her teeth from behind her closed lips.

_Oh, it would seem she hasn't taken to that news particularly well._

Amazon takes a few moments to regain her composure, eventually shifting her eyes away and swallowing her presumable disgust. She takes a moment to subtly clear her throat, before she speaks up, voice a little shakier than before.

"Are you sure you don't want to rethink that ambition?" She inquires, her fingers moving to grab her steak knife once again. My eyes follow her hands, watching cautiously for any instinctive acts she may perform.

"My main goal is to get out of these games alive, Abiodun. I'm clearly going to be a threat to them if I don't join them, so the best option is to do the opposite, and use their alliance to get me far," I respond. She shakes her head in denial, snickering at my words in disbelief.

"I didn't realize you were this detestable of a human Malik, you're disgusting," she sneers. I can't help but feel a stab of anger protrude through my chest, the rage beginning to build up once again inside me.

"In what way?" I cry out in protest. This bitch . . . I said I wouldn't let her get to me and that her opinions are insignificant - but who does she think she is to treat me like this?!

"Anyone that works with those deplorable people is no better than them. If you join them, then you will join them at the top of my kill list," she hisses. With those words I stand up abruptly, causing the chair to fall over with a screech. Both Amazon and I glare at each other for a moment, before I speak up.

"Well it looks like we are in mutual agreement. If we meet in the arena, its kill on sight," I spit, towering over Amazon.

"Then so be it," she sneers, before she throws the steak knife straight in between two lights on the far wall opposite the two of us. The knife embeds itself with such force that it continues to rattle despite no longer moving forward, causing the two of us to stare at it for a moment, taking in what just happened.

Eventually I glance back at her, as she continues to stare at me darkly, with a scowl etched onto her face.

"You best hope I don't run into you in that arena Abiodun, because I won't make it quick," I snarl at her. With those words, I turn silently, before I find my way to my bedroom. Despite not seeing her as I walk, I can sense her eyes drilling into the back of my skull. Something tells me, that it's going to be a common occurrence.

* * *

**Lucille Fforde**

**~16~**

**District 6**

* * *

I had expected the ride to the Capitol to be a lot . . . quieter. It's been several hours since I was Reaped, with the distance between District 6 and I growing further by the second. Was I sad to see it disappear in the landscape behind me? I wish I could say yes, however the reality was clear - I always wanted District 6 to become a distant memory.

When my name was called out on that stage, I was in a confusing state; I'll be the first to admit that. I was waiting for a crashing feeling to overcome me, to feel lost, fearful, petrified of the ordeal. I've seen it all a number of times, the screaming, the panicking, the crying. I never understood it, but I always assumed that if it were to happen to me, then I would be gifted some insight to the scenario.

I was wrong . . . dreadfully wrong. The first thing I felt was amusement. It wasn't the first horrible thing to ever happen to me, and it won't be the last. Life just has a cruel way of directing me, doesn't it? I almost felt like it was destined to happen to me; if anyone were to be chosen to die, it would be the defeated, broken girl who's had the world against her from day one. So when I say I was amused, I say it as if it were a bitter expectance, a self-fulfilling prophecy of 'Lucille Fforde's pitiful life'.

Of course, that was only the first thing I felt. Then came the feeling of elation; the realization that I had a way out, an escape from this worthless life of mine. I had felt giddy, ecstatic - I can't even describe just how free I felt.

I can't help but produce a tiny smirk with my chapped lips, resisting the urge to chuckle at my own self-deprecating thoughts. You know you have a shitty life when being Reaped for the Hunger Games is a source of freedom.

Many would wonder how the Hunger Games could possibly be a better alternative to the life I live, but those people would never understand what I have gone through. My life has been a living hell from the very beginning. For one, I lived in District 6, the drug riddled, gang run sector of Panem that even the Capitol refuses to send their valuable Peacekeepers to. The truth is, that they fear District 6, and the possible retaliation we would make for being disturbed any further than the Hunger Games.

To most in District 6, the payoff of sacrificing two children a year, to avoid harsher crackdowns of stricter Peacekeepers is well worth it, leaving our streets as the most dangerous, and corrupt in the country. The likelihood that I was born to some morphling addict, or perhaps a prostitute, is all too realistic. I mean, what other situation would my mother have been in to dump me in a community home?

As far as I'm concerned, I don't have a mother. I never knew her, meaning I may as well have suddenly materialized into existence. It would be the better alternative - less shameful and easier on the conscience, not that I've ever possessed much of a pride to worry about.

As it so happens however, someone who I think has to have materialized into existence would have to be my District Partner, Otto Van Meitch - or as he apparently likes to be called, King Otto. I say this of course, because this kid has to have somehow popped into reality, there is no way someone like this actually exists, right?

I glance over at Otto, observing the way he acts for a moment as he continues to both confuse and intrigue me. He sits at the table full of food, and hasn't stopped stuffing his face from the moment we got onto the train, in an almost sickening display of slurping, chewing, and visceral mess of food. Once Otto discovered he had the power to actually boss around Avoxes, he hasn't stopped barking orders at them since, even if they were just to do the most mundane or pointless tasks such as wiping his face with a napkin, or moving a platter of food closer to him that was only just out of his lazy reach. He seems to just like the power.

I suppose I could disregard this behavior as being natural for a weak, poverty-stricken kid who has suddenly been gifted the world, but that isn't where Otto's strange behavior concludes. It started with his Reaping; this scrawny, putrid looking kid volunteered for a death game. That in itself was questionable, but then of course the way he acted on stage just further added to the enigma.

What was it that he said to me? Something along the lines of 'you should be bowing to royalty', this crazy kid commanded as I held out my hand to shake his. From that moment, I was definitely a little put off by him, but I wasn't too sure what to expect. Was it an act? A coping mechanism?

It soon became quite apparent that Otto wasn't joking around, he's held up the facade for far too long - not to mention his physique and appearance. I've never met someone skinnier than Otto, and despite the fact that we now have access to bathrooms with showers full of different automations, Otto hasn't even stripped out of his rags that he would call clothes, yet alone bathed himself.

From what I've worked out, he is a delusional kid that has no idea what he has gotten himself into . . . but I'm not complaining. I'll let him indulge, let him believe whatever fantasy he thinks he's in, and let himself get killed so that I'm one tribute closer to home.

As I glance once more at Otto, I can't help but cringe in disgust at the way he scarfs down his food, the sounds growing grosser by the moment. This of course, leads me to my previous thoughts - I had expected the train ride to be a little quieter. Apparently, it can't be with Otto around.

Despite having decided what approach I'm going to take with Otto, I still can't help but turn my nose up at him. He is irritating to say the least, putting up with his delusions, or role playing, or whatever the hell is going on in his mind, is going to be far more difficult than I initially thought . . . especially when he personally interacts with me, which is far more often than I would like.

Although I have the opportunity to go to my room, and hide from the world, I'm still forcing myself to stay in his presence so I can at least attempt to learn some valuable information about Otto. So far, it's been in vain. He's too caught up in his own little world, one where we are all his subjects, where we wipe his ass for him, where we are commanded by him, and are not to speak unless spoken to. I scoff, rolling my eyes at the idea.

"Like hell," I mutter under my breath, before finally standing up and getting closer to the mess that Otto has made. Doing this, I get a closer look at the Avoxes that stand close by, their faces wincing at the continuous mess that Otto makes, almost as if they were stray dogs wary of a humans presence. Would I even consider Otto a human?

As he appears to notice my presence, he glances over at me, with what appears to be a red jam coating his mouth and cheeks as if it were crimson blood. I raise an eyebrow, putting my hands on my hips as I stand over him.

_That answers my question,_ I think to myself, disgusted by how animalistic he appears to be. Eventually, Otto swallows the food in his mouth - surprising me that he doesn't attempt to speak with it in there - before he breaks eye contact and turns to the closest Avox, a woman who appears distressed by all of the food on the ground.

"You, I need to be cleaned up," he demands, pointing at the poor woman. The Avox begins to move forward, before I hold up a hand, signaling her to stop.

"No, don't do that," I instruct her, before eyeing down Otto. "Wipe yourself down, these people shouldn't need to clean up _your_ mess."

Otto immediately appears surprised, before subconsciously wiping away the jam on his face using his wrist, causing me to cringe in disgust.

"Y-you can't talk to me like that! Who do you think you are?" He cries out, eyes wide in disbelief. I snort, crossing my arms in amusement.

"I could ask you the same thing," I reply monotonously. All this does is confuse Otto, apparently unfamiliar with the idea that somebody doesn't know who he is.

"What do you mean? I rule this land! I am your king, how do you dare to treat me with such disrespect?" He exclaims, a flash of anger beginning to take over his gaze. I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to put Otto in his place, and ultimately realizing it's not worth it. If I'm to keep him thinking this is real, it can only lead to his demise. That's exactly what I need, so for now, I need to entertain this absurd idea in his head.

Sighing, I close my eyes for a moment, before glancing back at him with clenched fists.

"All I'm saying, is that you shouldn't be abusing your power over your . . . subjects," I inform him, voicing that final word through clenched teeth. As terribly as I delivered that line, my poor acting appears to go right over Otto's head, with a sliver of realization washing over his face, before he appears to look down shamefully.

"Y-you're right Lady Fforde, I always swore to be a benevolent ruler - I suppose my anger just overcame me, I took out my frustrations on my loyal subjects," he sighs, before glancing at the Avoxes that line the wall. "You are all excused."

As the Avoxes scurry away with a bow of their heads, I can't help but gawk at what Otto said.

_Lady Fforde? What in the world?_

Otto collapses back down into his seat, before slamming his fist on the table and causing a loud bang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"This anger though, I've never felt anything like it," he grunts, eyes squeezed closed as he brings a hand up to caress the back of his head. I can't help but notice a large bump that his fingers run over; one that protrudes quite noticeably once his matted hair is pushed against it. He gasps out in pain, causing me to frown in concern.

"Otto . . . what's going on? Are you feeling alright?" I question, feeling myself step back a little as I watch him groan and writhe around in pain.

"It's KING OTTO!" He roars, before letting a yelp of pain escape his lips. "It burns, god it burns."

"What burns? What the hell are you talk-"

"Ugh! Silence! You don't deserve to speak!" He bellows, before swinging around blindly with sporadic fists. I step back in horror, not knowing how to approach this situation. Why is he getting so angry with me? I've barely said anything!

After a few moments, Otto collapses to the floor, whimpering as he shakes in the fetal position, muttering all types of nonsensical sentences.

"Wha-what the actual fuck is going on?" I question out loud, as I stare at Otto's feeble form. What I don't expect, is a coherent reply from Otto, however following my words, Otto strings a sentence together in what appears to be some internal crisis.

"You left me all those years ago, you abandoned me, and cast me astray, and you think you can just come in here and say goodbye?" Otto spits from behind his knees, appearing to have forgotten about my presence.

"This isn't about me, is it Otto?" I ask softly, before kneeling closer towards him. He doesn't look up at me, but he appears to perk up at my words, in the very least acknowledging that I've said something. I almost want to reach out to him, but seeing how dirty his body and clothes are, I can't help but hesitate to do so. Instead, Otto speaks again, distracting me from that idea.

"The Mayor's wife, she came to say goodbye," he sniffs. My thoughts shift to that of the full figured blonde lady that stood beside our Mayor, as he commenced the Reaping earlier today. She was a beautiful woman, one that flaunted the wealth she possessed as the Mayor's wife through her extravagant clothing choices. Why on Earth would she go to see Otto, the lunatic boy that looks like he has lived on the streets all of his life? Luckily, Otto answers this question for me.

"She said . . . she was my mother," he whispers, causing my face to fall in surprise. That was not what I was expecting.

"Oh," is all I can muster up the thought to say, certain that there isn't anything else that I possibly could answer with. From his words, it sounds like he's discovered that his beautiful, wealthy mother abandoned him at an early age - what is there to say to that? For the first time however, I'm finally beginning to understand Otto a little. This kid is damaged in some way; I thought it was simply a delusional mind, but now it seems more akin to a coping mechanism, as if he is entirely convinced that his perceptual reality is the truth.

Right now however, Otto seems to have let his rage break down that illusion. As I stare down at his shivering form, I can't help but feel a seed of guilt sprouting from within my chest. It was me that challenged his delusion, and as a result it seems to have broken him. I'm not sure how to fix this, and I'm not even sure if I should? Is it healthy to play along with his fantasy?

As I get a glimpse of his tormented face, I can't help but frown in concern. Whatever _this_ is, it certainly isn't anymore healthy. Before I can make a decision on what to do, the door to the hallway opens up, revealing the figures of our mentor, Bullet, and his fellow Victor, Anastasia, who glance down at Otto in concern.

"We heard shouting, is everything alright?" Anastasia questions, face tensed up in worry.

"Eugh, that's . . . someone should clean that up," Bullet grimaces, turning his nose up at the mess of food where Otto had been eating prior. Anastasia elbows him, causing him to jolt before paying attention to Otto.

"Oh right, um - yeah what she said," he murmurs.

"I don't really know, he sort of just started freaking out, it seemed like he was hallucinating," I explain, shrugging my shoulders. Anastasia's face contorts into one of annoyance, before she rolls her eyes and folds her arms.

"Well it's not like he wasn't doing that before, with all of his 'king' talk," she mutters. Suddenly, Otto sits up incredibly fast, his eyes shimmering with ecstasy in a stark parallel to the terror they had displayed only moments prior.

"Did somebody address me? Your king is here!" Otto grins gleefully, jumping up to his feet in excitement. I raise an eyebrow with a hand on my hip, trying to grasp what the hell just happened to Otto. Anastasia and Bullet both groan, before turning around and disappearing back into the hallway.

"God I need some damn morphling," Bullet complains as they get further away, causing me to sigh longingly.

_Me too,_ I agree internally. I turn back to Otto, who appears to be rediscovering the interior of the train carriage, as he wanders around with a blissful look on his grimy face.

"Gold," he breathes, reaching out and feeling the bone white walls, as he walks slowly alongside the wall. "It's all gold . . . all mine."

Shaking my head, I decide to leave him be, heading towards my room for the first time since we arrived. Otto is either the cleverest tribute I've ever met, or the most crazy. He well and truly might be playing me, but he really could just be this insane. One thing is for certain, regarding the truth - regardless of which of those is reality, I should keep my distance.

* * *

**Slane Ampersand**

**~14~**

**District 5**

* * *

It's the first time that I'm about to come out into the main carriage since we first arrived here. Following the Reaping, I had no interest in reveling in my new whereabouts, and marveling at the wonders of Capitol styled luxury; that was the least of my concerns. I vaguely remember I had left my Escort, Azalea, with the loudmouth known as Yelena Lantsov, my District Partner, although both appeared to be very sociable people. I'm sure neither would have noticed me slipping away once we had arrived.

My priority was rest; I had been rather sleep deprived following these past few days as I had long troubled myself over my upcoming decision. Was I going to volunteer for the Hunger Games? Or would I wait? To most, it would seem rather outrageous; a fourteen year-old kid willingly handing himself over to compete in the Hunger Games. I can certainly understand their perspective, but they have no idea about mine.

I have a particular goal that I want to achieve within the arena, one that I have long contemplated doing over the last few years. I always knew that I would eventually do it, it was more a matter of when. Ages twelve and thirteen, I was still too underdeveloped; a lack of puberty and certain lifestyle factors certainly played a part into that.

Next year, when I would be fifteen, it would be a Quarter Quell. The 100th Hunger Games, a momentous occasion for the Capitol, but unfortunately too inconvenient for my plans. Competition would surely be high next year, not to mention whatever twist the Capitol would throw in there, both would make it more difficult to carry out my intentions.

After that, I would have three years where my matured body could be in better condition to participate. Any normal person would think that would be the most logical plan of action to take, however, as I sit slouched over on the end of my bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door, I can't help but shake my head, a small smirk finding itself on my face.

Who would I be kidding if I were to take that route? My body isn't getting any better than this . . . my father sought to that. My bony fingers reach out to my wrist, as they fully encircle the skinny flesh that is my arm. My eyes scan over my wispy white hair, as my fingers release the caress of my wrist, and instead fiddle with one of the few remaining locks of black hairstreaks that my scalp retains. My sunken eyes lock back onto my reflections counterpart, as I absorb the image of my gaunt, purple bags, blended into ghostly white skin that turns off everyone that I encounter.

Of course, there is an explanation for my unusual appearance - I have developed Marie Antoinette's Syndrome. I'm not exactly sure what triggered it, I can only assume it had to do with my fathers experimentation on my body, some sort of trauma has certainly fast-tracked this mutation in my body and if anyone was the culprit, it would be him.

When I close my eyes, I still see the flashes of disconnected and fragmented memories; I still feel the various sensations that my body had to endure for prolonged periods of time. The electric shocks, the stabbing pains that made my tendons feel like they were on fire, the degrading conditions he locked me up in. It's a mixed bag, but a lot of it remains embedded deep within my mind.

I open my eyes once more, the tingling sensation of pins and needles beginning to fade from my wrists.

_The same areas, every time,_ I murmur, once more caressing my wrist. Irreparable trauma, it'll never disappear completely from me; I'm just numb to it now. I stand up with a groan, continuing to examine my bony physique. I may have placed myself in a precarious position by volunteering, and as I turn to the side and lift up my arm, revealing my alarmingly prominent rib cage underneath pasty white skin, I once more ask myself - was it too soon?

"No," I mutter to myself, as I grab a clean shirt from my dresser and slip it over my head. "It had to be done."

There is no use in prolonging the inevitable; I had it destined that I would one day enter the Games. What was the use in waiting so long, when the outcome is always going to come out the same? I pull the shirt down so that my head pops out of the hole, my hair now more disheveled as I get a glimpse of it in the mirror. This same hair within just over a week is likely to be matted with crimson blood and dirt, forever left to rot and decay.

Of course, that is because I don't expect to come out of these Hunger Games alive. There is no statistical chance of me even coming close; it's just not going to happen. There are too many variables that I have to account for, and even if I were to do well within the arena, the Capitol would never let me win. My plans would likely even freak them out, but that's the entire point; I can't wait to achieve what I have in mind.

My intentions don't align with the Capitol, but that wouldn't be the only reason that they wouldn't let me win. The simple fact that I just don't suit their picturesque idea of a valiant Victor would be enough to want to take me out. I look weird, I'm not charismatic in the slightest, I just wouldn't work well for them. They like a Victor that the audience can cheer for, and fall in love with. I'm the kind of tribute that the audience begs to be taken out.

I chuckle, as I narrow my eyes at my reflection, spotting the smug grin that has formed on my face.

"Let them beg, I'm not here to play by their rules," I whisper, before I wipe the grin from my face, and turn towards the door. If I were to enter the main carriage grinning like a lunatic, I would attract some unwanted attention from Yelena. She is already someone I'm not particularly fond of, in fact to be quite blunt - I don't like her. Unlike me, she is someone that voices too much about what is on her mind, sometimes in very unsuitable circumstances. Just the way she acts, it's enough to irk me. So ignorant, so blissfully unaware of her actions, almost as if she's never had to worry about anything in her life.

_I can change that, _I think scornfully, as I slowly open my door and peer outside. Nobody is here, not too surprising as I'm not sure why they would just hang out in a hallway, but despite this I hear distant voices coming from behind the door at the end of the corridor. Keeping silent, I take a couple of steps towards the door, beginning to hear the words much clearer than from where my bedroom door was located.

I recognize the voice instantly, to be that of Yelena's - she's the only one loud and boisterous enough to have her voice travel through the walls. I lean against the door for a moment, silently listening to what she discusses with who I can only presume to be Ceres, our Mentor. I haven't met her yet, as I went straight to my room upon arriving on the train, yet something tells me she had no quarrels with that. I saw the way she reacted to me when I volunteered, the way her eyes showed repulse behind her happy and innocent facade.

From what I can judge right now, Ceres is going to focus on helping Yelena to win this year. She may say she'll be helping the two of us, but I know better - she'll have no tears to shed if I was to die. That's why; I'm going to make it my mission to make sure she has no choice, but to help only me. For that, Yelena will have to die, which I have no doubts can be achieved quite easily.

As I cease my thoughts, I continue listening to Yelena, who drones on about what skills she can utilize for the games. I raise an eyebrow, amused by how open she's being about this. Any logical tribute wouldn't openly blurt out their skills and tricks when their opposition could easily overhear them. It's like she wants me to know everything about her, she's just asking for me to use this against her.

Unfortunately it would seem I'm only catching the back-end of the conversation, as Yelena rapidly changes the topic to one that I don't expect.

"_So what do you think about that Slane kid?"_ The muffled voice of Yelena questions. I look up in curiosity, a subtle 'oh' escaping my lips as I lean closer to the door. The response to her question is soft, pretty inaudible for me to hear through the walls, although with the person being Ceres, I doubt she will vocalize any negative perceptions of me; she's too painfully nice to do such a thing.

Yelena seems surprised by whatever answer she says, with her response to said answer giving me some insight to what Ceres said.

"_Really? You're not sure yet? Nothing from a first impression?"_ Yelena challenges her. I shake my head, snickering at Yelena. This stupid bitch, clearly she doesn't understand Ceres' nature.

"_Personally he scares me, I mean what is up with his look?"_

I am suddenly frozen by Yelena's words, a frown begging to form on my face. So that's how she feels about me huh? Will she elaborate? I continue to listen with my ear pressed against the door, my teeth clenched as I hear Yelena berating my appearance.

"_Yeah I know it's mean, but he's not here to listen. I just think he looks like a bit of a freak. Not to mention he volunteered, why would he do that if he wasn't weird?"_

My eyes narrow at her words, my body now tense with a burning anger developing deep from within. Usually I'm a pretty self-contained and collected person, but who does she think she is to berate my appearance? Despite my intentions, she has no right to judge me because off my condition, just how self-centered is she?

_I think I've heard enough,_ I think darkly, before I wipe the frown that had broken through from my face and open the door loudly enough for them to notice. Yelena yelps in surprise at the sudden commotion, her face turning to me and draining of color to become a snowy white that could rival my own complexion. Ceres turns to me as well, less out of surprise and more out of acknowledgement, with her eyes remaining quite passive whilst a friendly smile emerges on her face. I take a few steps forward, bringing myself into a complete view, before I stand before them without a word, my eyes set on Yelena.

Yelena holds a hand to her chest, appearing to be getting over the fright of my entrance, before her face flushes full of color, presumably out of embarrassment. Whether it is due to the possibility that I overheard her opinion of me, or because of her rather dramatic reaction to me entering the room, I am unsure. Ceres stands up quietly, before taking a step forward and displaying her hand for me to shake.

"Slane, was it? Nice to meet you, I seemed to miss you earlier on!" Ceres beams, as I take her hand in mine for a quick shake. Damn, despite clearly being put off by me during the Reaping, she's much better at concealing her true feelings now that she interacts with me one on one - it's a good thing she's a Victor and not a tribute.

"I needed to rest, it's been a long day," I reply quietly, causing Ceres to chuckle as she sits back down.

"Most certainly - please join us, I'd like to get to know you a little more," Ceres smiles, directing me to a sofa opposite her and diagonal from Yelena.

_Oh I'm sure you would, _I think in response, before calmly sitting down with my traditional slouched posture. As I get comfortable, I continue to stare blankly at Yelena, causing her to grow an uncomfortable look on her face each time she sneaks a glimpse of me. If she wants to speak ill of me, then I'm going to give her a reason to.

"So Slane, we were just discussing some strategy, I figure that might interest you?" Ceres speaks up, bringing my attention to her.

"Were you now?" I raise an eyebrow, causing Yelena to shift uncomfortably in her seat. Ceres however, doesn't bat an eye, as she reaches out for a glass of what I can only assume is water.

"Well yes, it is my job after all," she smiles, before raising the glass to her lips. She's quite the actress, I have to commend her on that; not that it matters since I'm not competing against her. I sigh, before leaning back against the backrest of the sofa, feeling a lot more comfortable than when I was sitting without support.

"Where would you like to start then Miss Powell? You can lead the way seeing as you are the knowledgeable one here," I retort back at Ceres, whose smile falters upon my words.

"Okay . . . sure thing! And please, call me Ceres - Miss Powell is a little too formal for me," she responds, frowning slightly before shuddering with closed eyes. ". . . It reminds me of -"

"President Snow?" I interject with a guess, causing Ceres to eye me with alarm. Her mouth opens slightly, before she lowers her eyes.

"Yeah, exactly," she frowns, before she shakes her head and forces her signature smile. "Enough about me though, may I ask Slane, why did you decide to volunteer?"

I eye her down as I purse my lips, resisting the urge to hum a laugh. I did expect this question to come up, it is only natural that she would be curious as to why I have volunteered. Unfortunately for her, I don't plan on revealing that reason - especially not in front of Yelena, who continues to watch me hesitantly.

"There will come a time when you learn why I did, but for now I think I'll keep that to myself," I respond, feeling a slight smirk form on my face. Ceres appears slightly taken aback by my statement, perhaps having not expected me to refuse to answer, however she does recover quickly, choosing to shrug her shoulders and nod.

"Very well, I suppose we aren't entitled to know, if that's what makes you feel comfortable then we will leave it that way!" Ceres accepts. Yelena however, doesn't appear to agree with Ceres.

"She's trying to help you out kid, what reason could there possibly be? Do you have a death wish?" Yelena pipes up, rather angrily. My eyes lock onto her, as I feel a flash of distaste erupt within me.

"You must have one, if you're going to talk to me like that," I reply softly, causing Yelena to freeze in shock, looking like she has just been slapped. Not the response she expected? Well too bad for her.

Ceres appears to grow uneasy by the building tension, as she bites her lip with a worried expression.

"Uh guys, I think we need to take it easy. I know emotions must be running rampant right now, but if we just calm dow-"

"No," I interrupt her, causing her to trail off. "If Yelena has something to say to me, she is more than welcome to. I just can't promise it will be beneficial to do so."

Yelena appears deterred by the venom in my words, and although I express them calmly, she seems to notice the underlying threats. She looks at me for a moment, before swallowing her pride and standing up.

"Little shit," she mutters, before storming off, allowing me to watch her in satisfaction. Ceres looks at me in concern, before sighing and standing up as well.

"Well, I'm sure we can have a more in depth discussion later . . . perhaps separate from Yelena. I'm going to go check up on her," she points her thumb towards the hallway where our bedrooms are, before following Yelena out of sight. I snort, suspecting that she likely just didn't want to be left alone with me. That's nothing new to me, I'm quite used to it now - plus I prefer the solitude.

As I lean back, I reflect on Yelena's poor treatment of me, contemplating the best approach to it. Seeing as I've already threatened her, I'm no doubt going to be on her list of caution, if I wasn't already that is. One thing that was made abundantly clear from that interaction however is that neither of us like the other. Yelena thinks of me as some weird, abhorred freak, whilst I perceive her as an ignorant, intolerable bitch; it's clear that we are enemies.

I cross one of my legs over the other, looking out of the train window at the passing landscape. It won't be long before that view becomes that of the divine city of the Capitol, where I will be able to judge my competition closer, and determine who my first target is. Despite this however, I believe I have already selected my little guinea pig.

"Oh Yelena," I mumble, forming a devious grin as I gaze at my reflection. "You have no idea what you're in for."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hey everyone! I'm back with a new chapter, and a lot sooner than last time, may I add! I was really excited to get this chapter out as we are finally getting into tribute POV's, so I was really motivated when I writing this! This time around, we were introduced a little better to Andromache, Malik, Lucille, and Slane, and as the chapter title implies, the feuding has already begun!**

**Please do let me know what you think of these four tributes now that we have a much better insight as to who they are, not to mention their District Partners who had a little more of an introduction as well. There is plenty to work with for these characters, and much more to learn about them, but I think I did a good job of revealing just enough to keep a little mystery to them. Everything will be learnt in time!**

**Thank you so much to the couple of people that did leave reviews last chapter, although it was a small amount I still appreciate any feedback I can get from you guys! I know a few people would have left or forgotten about this story from the slow updates, but to those that stick around, I am very appreciative. Next chapter will be named **_**Train Ride II: Congeniality**_**, and will consist of POV's from Nera (D10), Kirby (D3), Cinder (D4), and Burton (D9). Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope to get the next one out soon!**

**-Winter**


	11. Train Ride II: Congeniality

**Train Ride II**

_Congeniality_

* * *

**Nera Abbadelli**

**~17~**

**District 10**

* * *

It's still quite a lot to take in. Several hours have passed since my name was read out for all of Panem to hear, I would have thought it would become easier with time. It would seem that if that were the case, then it must take quite a lot of time, because I feel no less uncertain and anxious then I did the moment I was Reaped. In all honesty, it didn't feel even the slightest bit real. It was as if I were acting out a dream . . . no - a nightmare. The way my feet felt rooted to the floor, that overwhelming feeling of trying to run away, yet something keeps you in place; it all added up to become the strangest yet most terrifying moment of my life.

I had always thought I would be better prepared, had my name ever been called out at a Reaping. There was always a secure feeling in the back of my mind, as whenever I contemplated the idea of it, I dismissed the possibility of ever needing to go up onto that stage.

I snort bitterly, narrowing my eyes at the train windows as the landscape rushes past in a blur.

_How foolish were you?_ I scold myself. It's a selfish world out there, a world filled with empty promises and meaningless words. I indeed was certain I would never need to be worried about being Reaped, all thanks to my lovely twin sister Cecelia. We were always inseparable throughout our childhood, and up until today, things remained consistent. However, Cecelia was always the 'favorite' twin.

Everyone loved her more, even our own mother, who would never admit to it - but I didn't need confirmation to see the truth. It's not that people hated me or anything like that, it was always more of a 'stuck in her shadow' situation. I was always cast aside, forgotten, the second choice. It was tiresome at times, however it wasn't all bad; it was sometimes refreshing to be the quiet one.

On top of being people's favorite, Cecelia was traditionally better at most things than I was. She always seemed to excel in comparison to me, despite her denial in an attempt to remain humble. I chuckle slightly, shaking my head in amusement as I momentarily forget the current moment. After a moment or two, my frown returns, as I recall the words that she has repeated on many occasions, the very words that would give me the false sense of security I felt every Reaping until today.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, and squeeze my eyes shut as my misguided assumptions continue to haunt me. What might those assumptions be? What was the promise that Cecelia had drilled into my brain?

If I was ever to be Reaped, she promised that she would volunteer for me. Hilarious, I know - how ignorant could I be? It was nothing more than a sisterly promise, a hypothetical that I shouldn't have taken to heart. Why was I so blissfully unaware of the reality of what would happen, and more importantly, why was I selfish enough to expect her to do such a thing?

Perhaps it was because she was always the better 'me'. She is a more confident version of me, she is a better leader than I, she is even a better fighter; she would have been the better tribute, that's a fact as far as I'm concerned.

_But we aren't Careers,_ I remind myself, as I bite my lower lip. My thoughts are truthful, just because Cecelia would be the better tribute, it doesn't mean she is inclined to volunteer for me like a Career would. It's my fault for assuming she was being outright truthful with her words, and now, I must accept my fate.

I cross my leg over the other as I sigh a deep breath, folding my arms in the process as I lean back into the sofa. Thinking back over my thoughts, I can't help but feel my forehead furrow in annoyance.

_I'm a decent fighter too! Cecelia doesn't deserve all of my praise,_ I remind myself. I think back to our time spent at work, when we were bored on our breaks. Cecelia and I both work in a meat-packaging factory, as it is one of the most available jobs on offer. I wouldn't say we trained like a Career per say, however when we had the time, we would sneak into the freezer room filled with animal carcasses hanging from meat hooks. Using the tools they had in there, such as butchers knives, sickles, and meat cleavers, we would do target practice to pass the time, to shoot the shit per se; either by throwing knives at the meat, or pretending they were enemies to slash up close with our sickles.

I always thought it was silly at the time, especially when Cecelia would joke we were like the Careers for doing such a thing. I never saw it that way, I wasn't trying to be a better fighter, I just thought it was fun because we were bored.

Looking back on it now, perhaps it was beneficial to me after all. I'm by no means a trained fighter, but I sure as hell have some pretty significant experience with weapons; from both those moments of bored leisurely activity, and just the general work we had to do in that factory. Cecelia was always better at throwing the knives and hitting targets, but the one thing that I was prideful about, was the fact that I knew how to tear up flesh with a blade at close range.

I may not be a parallel match for a trained Career, but I can probably put up a solid fight . . . at least I hope.

"You know, I think that's the first time I've seen you crack a smile," a voice suddenly jolts me from my thoughts. Before I have time to question who it is, the tall handsome form of my District Partner, Alex Turner, suddenly pops into view with a warm smile on his face, before he sits on the chair directly in front of me.

"I - uh . . . were you watching me?" I question, struggling to get the sentence out as I'm still taken aback by his sudden appearance. Alex chuckles before he grabs a glass, pouring himself some ice-cold water from the jug beside it.

"I mean, not exactly, I just happened to glance at you when you did smile," he grins, a playful gleam flashing in his eyes. I can't help but return the smile, laughing in response as my concerns begin to recede slightly.

"Yeah well, I guess I was just reminiscing on some stupid memory," I mumble shyly, slightly embarrassed at being observed.

"Of course, I get it. I've been trying to think of . . . happier times as well," Alex responds with a sigh, as he stares past me as if he were deep in thought. I examine his face as he glances down at the ground with his soft blue eyes, a sad smile on his face as his forehead furrows in a melancholic fashion. This is the first time I've actually paid much attention to Alex since we were Reaped, I've been too focused on figuring out why my sister went back on her word, rather than trying to prepare myself for the inevitable and become acquainted with my new District Partner.

I should consider myself lucky that he has reached out to me at all; I'm not the most sociable in new situations so the chances of me doing it of my own accord were miniscule. However, there's something so warm about Alex, something wholesome. I can't really pinpoint it, but he seems to have a welcoming aura about him, like the kind of person you just want just to be around.

He glances back up at me, smiling again with a toothy grin that I can't help but lose my guard around, with my nerves feeling a lot more at ease. Moments after returning the smile, I suddenly freeze in a moment of realization. Perhaps that's what he wants me to think?

Cecelia was always the trusting one out of the two of us, and openly accepted new people to her group of friends. I on the other hand, introverted and shy, was always more wary - perhaps that's why people liked her more.

Nonetheless, I have to consider his attitude to be an act; it's a sure possibility. This guy did volunteer after all . . .

Alex seems to notice my sudden moment of apprehension, as his lips purse up in concern. He leans back for a moment, appearing to be unsure of how to approach me, which leads me to take the reins of the conversation.

"Why did you do it?" I ask softly, causing his head to perk up at the sound of my voice.

"Hm?" Alex responds, possibly not catching my question, or simply having been caught off guard.

"You volunteered, why'd you do it?" I repeat myself, this time being more specific. Alex is silent for the most part, thinking about my words as he stares down at the floor, possibly trying to figure out how he can answer best. Perhaps he knows I'm testing him - or he could just be genuinely troubled over the subject.

"I-I'm sorry if it's a bit of a sensitive topic," I speak up, a little concerned that I'm being too forward. "I know you said it was the chance of being able to provide a better life for your family, but you said it yourself on stage . . . that's a big gamble."

Alex nods his head, before looking at me once more, a sad smile on his face.

"No, you're right - I'm taking a very big risk," Alex sighs, leaning back with his fingers clenching his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut, as he groans what sounds like a regretful noise.

"I was so . . . conflicted. It felt like it was my last chance to win a better life for them, because we were on the brink of . . . no, it was impulsive on my behalf," Alex scolds himself, appearing distressed. I can't help but wonder what Alex meant exactly, the brink of what? I don't know Alex enough to continue pestering him about such a thing; so instead, I shake my head in disagreement.

"You're being too hard on yourself. It may have been just a _little_ impulsive," I grin, with a small chuckle escaping my lips. "But you did what you thought you needed to do, that's a lot more valiant than many other people would be."

This appears to lift Alex's spirits a little, with his head nodding slowly in response at my justification for his actions. He sighs softly, before giving me a look of gratitude.

"Thanks Nera, I hadn't thought about it like that. I've sort of just been . . . bashing myself over it," he responds, a sad laugh following his words.

_Well, I can't exactly argue that criticism isn't warranted over such a decision,_ I think to myself behind my comforting smile. He doesn't need to know that I disapprove over such measures, because if he is being genuine - and I'm pretty damn confident he is - if I want anyone that isn't me to make it home, it would be Alex.

"What's done is done right?" I respond with a shrug, causing him to snicker bitterly.

"I suppose so, all I can do is hope."

"So considering that you did volunteer, do you have anything you know . . . to help you get far?" I question, struggling to find the right words. Alex raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk arising on his face.

"Are you asking if I'm capable of killing?" He chuckles.

"Oh . . . I was thinking more along the lines of fighting, but yeah I guess killing as well," I add on. Alex takes a moment to think, before reluctantly responding.

"I can use a knife I suppose, I've had to resort to using one a few times, but I can't throw large weapons like spears or axes," Alex responds, not sounding very confident.

"Throwing weapons has never been my strong point, I always preferred to be close up," I agree absentmindedly, before my eyes widen in horror. I did not mean to let that slip. In a panic, I glance over at Alex, who looks at me in slight confusion, but mainly curiosity.

"If I didn't know any better, that makes you sound like you have weapons experience," he speaks up, his tone humored rather than accusatory.

"I - uh, forget I said anything," I reply dismissively, causing Alex to laugh hysterically.

"Come on, spill the beans - are _you_ capable of fighting?" Alex questions, leaning forward in anticipation. I can't help but sigh, before begrudgingly confirming.

"Sort of . . . I have never professionally trained or anything, my sister and I would just spar when we were bored at work, nothing more," I say defensively, stifling a nervous giggle.

"Spar . . . each other?" Alex questions in amusement.

"Sometimes I guess, but not with actual weapons. We used those against our target practice."

"Target practice? What were the targets?"

"Dead animals, hanging on meat hooks," I respond nonchalantly. An expression of disgusted curiosity overcomes Alex, as he laughs in disbelief.

"What the fuck? Where did you work?" He cries out with a grin.

"In the meat packaging factory," I chuckle, causing a look of understanding to wash over Alex.

"Oh I see, well I guess any experience helps, right?" He smirks, causing me to nod in response.

"Yeah I guess you're right! Maybe my odds aren't so bad after all," I speak up excitedly. Alex smiles back, before falling silent for a moment, appearing to be contemplating a decision. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that our train of thought runs along the same tracks, because before Alex can speak up, I decide to be like Cecelia for once, and take initiative.

"Alex, are you looking for an alliance?" I prod quietly, causing his eyes to flicker over to me in surprise.

"Oh . . . um, well you took the words right out of my mouth really . . . do you want to ally with me?" Alex questions with uncertainty, perhaps the daunting thought of potential rejection plaguing his confidence. I scan over Alex up and down, although I have made up my mind already. Naturally, I was cautious of him at first, but following this conversation I don't think he's the deceitful type. I feel as if we have good enough chemistry, and I sure as hell need a reliable ally as much as he does.

I smile at him in response, before sticking out my hand for him to take in his own. Alex appears to relax a little, becoming quite cheerful as he takes my hand, and gives it a shake just as we did on the stage back in District 10. However, this time it wasn't as an acknowledgement of one another, but rather as a pact that will define our time spent in the arena.

"Allies," I confirm, the two of us beginning to grin at one another. Perhaps Cecelia volunteering for me was never what was destined to happen, maybe my fate was that I needed to come out of my shell . . . to become more like Cecelia.

* * *

**Kirby Heyward**

**~12~**

**District 3**

* * *

This should be fine. As long as I've got my brave face on, maybe I won't look like a completely hopeless train wreck? At this point I'm well equipped to put on such a face, after all - I think I've cried all the tears there were in me, I don't think I could produce more even if I wanted to.

It was as soon as I got on the train, I couldn't sustain my facade any longer; boiling hot tears brimming in my eyes, threatening to flood down my cheeks in broad view of both my Escort and Didgit, my District Partner. My Escort - I think her name was Ellie - she seemed a little more oblivious to what was flowing through my mind, as she actively cried out after me in confusion as soon as I fled away, trying to locate a private place where I could breakdown. My stifled sobs followed me down the hallway that I found myself in, as I blindly crashed through a door and slammed it shut, before collapsing on to an admittedly extravagant bed. My face found the pillow, where I released a wail so horrific, that had I not blocked my mouth with a pillow, I'm sure all of Panem would have heard me.

There I lay for hours, sobbing and sniffing as I was forced to come to terms with the fate that has fallen upon me, the realization that I was going to die. What did I do to deserve this? I'm being punished because of what people did a century ago, a war that was and would be today wildly out of my control. That's the logic of it of course, but I can't expect the Capitol to see things from my perspective, I can't expect them to care.

In the past, some prominent Capitolite figures have dared to speak out about the ethics of forcing children younger than fifteen to participate in the Hunger Games, which does go to show that not all of them are bloodthirsty monsters. Yet, those same people would always vanish, with little comments from the Capitol Government other than their 'condolences' for the missing public figures. Well, at least that was during the reign of Coriolanus Snow . . . Caroline Snow is a much different story on the surface.

As I sit up on the bed, I catch a glance at myself in the mirror adjacent from me. My eyes are still red, my face puffy from crying and my expression vacant of emotion. I no longer feel distraught, I've released all the pent up emotion I had in me - now I feel empty. I look down at my reflections body, seeing the scrawny stature that I've always possessed, and not being able to help but produce a scowl.

My small, weedy body is the exact reason the Capitol has never back flipped on their stance of having young teenagers forced into the Games. Aside from consistency and authority, they have one other consideration in mind, and I know all too well about what that is.

Fodder. Cannon fodder to be exact. People like me - younger kids or people malnourished and weak - we are essential for the Games so that the Capitol audience get their fix of bloodshed. Typically, that sort of lingo isn't particularly used when the media discuss the lesser of the competition, as there is the unspoken implication that a Fodder Tribute is simply there to make the numbers, without any real chance of making it out alive. People like me are normally named as 'Bloodbath Tributes', tributes that are likely to not escape the commencement of the Games. I suppose people that use the name Bloodbath Tribute feel as if it's a little more appropriate than calling a tribute something that implies they're there to fill a death quota. At least being named a Bloodbath Tribute suggests that you have a chance of making it out, albeit a low one.

Sighing, I look down at my lap, twiddling my thumbs as my panicked thoughts continue to dwell on me. I should be outside with my Mentor right now, strategizing and working out how the hell I'm going to get out of this situation. I've been here for a few hours now, and so far nobody has come to see me, but can I blame them? Who would want to witness a twelve year-old boy breaking down over the fact that he is going to die? I may be young, but I'm not stupid.

Contrary to my previous thoughts of solitude however, a short while later I am disrupted by a brief knock on the door. My eyes focus on the locked door, as I try to subtly sniff in order to clear my sinuses.

"Hello?" A soft voice travels from behind the door, sounding quite feminine and apprehensive. "Kirby, was it?"

I quickly rub my eyes, trying to get rid of any lingering evidence that I had been bawling my eyes out for hours, before replying in a shaky and embarrassingly high pitch.

"Y-yeah - it's Kirby."

There's a short period of silence, before the voice continues trying to speak to me.

"It's Didgit, your District Partner . . . am I able to come in?" She questions, as if speaking to an infant. I can't help but feel a flash of anger due to her tone, feeling as if this girl is patronizing me. Does she think I'm so helpless that she needs to baby me? Does she feel inclined to console me just because she's older? I'm almost a teenager; I would have thought that would warrant at least a little respect.

The deeper I think about it, the more suspicious I grow, with a flurry of possibilities beginning to spiral through my mind as to why Didgit has arrived at my door. Perhaps it's all a ruse, an intention to build up my trust before betraying me the first chance she gets. I probably look like an easy target, but that doesn't mean I have to make it easy for her.

"Why?" I call out to her, my tone a little stronger than before. "Are you here to groom me for an easy kill? I know how this goes!"

I glare at the door awaiting a response, feeling the adrenaline pulsating through my body. One of the most essential rules of the Games, is to trust nobody; not even District Partners. The silence that follows my accusation only reinforces my beliefs - that is until Didgit's voice becomes audible once again.

"Well for starters . . . this is my assigned room," Didgit responds, the hint of a giggle present in her words. Her response makes my body tense up, with my eyes widening as I recollect my half-blinded stumbling into the room a few hours ago. I hadn't paid attention to which room I was entering through my dreary vision, I must have accidentally crashed through the door of Didgit's room. She could have been waiting for a while for me to leave so that she could go in . . .

"Oh," is all I can manage to reply, the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment beginning to flood through my body, with the pink from puffy post-crying face now transferring to my cheeks in a blush. I hastily get off of the bed, before stepping towards the door and unlocking it with my head lowered in shame. It slowly swings open to reveal Didgit's petite physique, and her pretty face contorted in an expression that suggests both amusement and understanding.

I suddenly feel quite exposed, struggling to meet her gaze as I mumble an apology to her. Didgit produces a warm smile, one that puts me in a surprising state of ease - perhaps the most ease that I have felt since I heard my name escape the lips of Ellie at the Reaping.

"It's okay Kirby, I'm not here to hurt you - or groom you as you put it," Didgit assures me, as she steps past me and scans the room with her amber tinted eyes. Her eyes rest on the mess of a bed, caused by my own hand, before I clear my throat and make the effort to speak up.

"I uh . . . may have taken out some frustration," I admit, motioning towards the strewn bed covers and misplaced pillows.

"There's no need to explain, I understand," Didgit replies, beginning to straighten the covers and tidy the bed. She glances at me once more, her face soft and friendly.

"The others wanted to check up on you, but I wasn't sure if you would be ready to speak with them. I figured you might have wanted to see someone like me first, someone who can relate," she speaks up, before sitting on the bed and patting the vacant spot next to her, encouraging me to sit beside her. When I think about it, she isn't wrong. Ellie and Newton, they would only look at me piteously, like the lost cause that I could very well be. At least with Didgit, she's the very same as me, a person stolen from their family, their home, and cast into a world of death and cruelty, to be cheered on like animals as people murder one another. Newton may have been a tribute once upon a time, but he is through the rough, he won and he is safe. In many ways, I'm sure he has long forgotten what it was like to be a tribute who had just been Reaped.

Despite my initial apprehension to trust Didgit, I grow more comfortable around her by the second. Could it be ignorance? Naivety? Am I just plain stupid? Or maybe, I should just go along with it, and try not to cast away who could potentially be the only person to show me kindness in these Games.

With this in mind, I sit beside Didgit, looking down at the floor in silence as she continues to glance around the room.

"It's pretty incredible, isn't it? The extravagance, the cutting edge tech - it's a shame that we're here only under such terrible circumstances," Didgit sighs, frowning as she glances down at the floor. I hadn't taken the time to properly take in the riches of the room in my frenzied state, but now that she mentions it, she isn't wrong. It's every tech geeks dream, the automations and various functions of the room that I can spot on the control panel; they're enough to keep one occupied for ages. I wouldn't consider myself to be particularly knowledgeable about technology, considering that I am still early in my studies. However, belonging to District 3, I've still managed to develop a somewhat understanding of how to use basic technology - well at least more of an understanding than tributes from other Districts.

"I can only imagine what it will be like in the Capitol, this is only a train after all," I point out, causing Didgit to glance my way and smile.

"I was never exactly . . . struggling back in District 3, but even I'm not used to this," Didgit comments, snorting an exasperated laugh. It takes a moment for her words to register, before my eyes widen when it dawns on me who Didgit actually is.

"Oh! You're from the Lancaster family, aren't you?" I speak up, causing Didgit to raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk growing on her face.

"Yeah I am, not that it's done me any favors here," she chuckles, putting a leg up on the bed to face me.

"I-I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been rude to you befo-"

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Didgit holds up a hand to cut me off, before turning to face me fully. "I'm not special just because I come from a family of Elites . . . if anything I'm probably the runt of my family."

Didgit's expression displays bitterness with her words, however I can see the slivers of sadness in her gaze, enough to help me understand who she is.

"That's not true," I reply softly, provoking a chuckle from Didgit.

"I can assure you it is, but there's no need to worry!" Didgit suddenly beams, before springing up off of the bed. "Because in a week or two, I'll either be their prodigy Victor child, or I'll be dead without a care in the world!"

The two of us chuckle at the comment, however the bitter reality of what it entails envelopes me, causing me to need to resist the urge to frown. I sigh, staring once again at the reflection of myself in the opposing mirror. I want to be strong; I want to prove myself to all the people that have already written me off just from my age. However, I don't even know if I have it in me.

As I glance back at Didgit, she observes me as many others have - but something is different about her stare. I can't help but smile at her, a hum of nervous laughter managing to escape my lips.

"Why do you look at me like that?" I ask with apprehension, yet a mild amount of curiosity. Didgit raises an eyebrow in question, appearing curious by my words.

"What way would that be?" She replies.

"You don't look at me like I'm a baby, like I'm a hopeless kid that is here just to die," I point out, lowering my gaze in embarrassment. "All I've seen since I've been Reaped are people looking at me in pity, making sure to look away when I notice them staring at me. You don't do that though."

Didgit shrugs her shoulders with a friendly smile, before patting me on the back in a sisterly manner.

"Kirby, I know what it's like to be cast aside, left in the shadows, overlooked by others because they think of you as lesser than them. It's when you start letting their beliefs alter your own, that those perceptions truly start to take hold," she exclaims.

"So, what you're saying is . . ." I speak up, trying to grasp her message. Didgit lightly grabs my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance.

"What I'm saying is, I know there's more to you than what can be seen on the surface, and the more that you believe that, the more you can say 'fuc-' - I mean, 'screw you' to those that underestimate you," she smiles. Maybe she has a point . . . I've felt pretty hopeless ever since I was Reaped, and the way people have looked at me and treated me like someone on deaths doorstep certainly hasn't helped. In saying that though, I don't even know how the hell I'm meant to act stronger, or more confident.

"Well how can I prove to those people? How can I show them?" I question softly. Didgit steps away from me, appearing to head towards the door, however she stops for a moment, turning her head just enough to make eye contact with me.

"If you're concerned that who you are makes you look too weak, pretend to be someone else," she suggests, shrugging a little before turning and continuing to the door. "When you're feeling up to it, you should come out into the main carriage, to meet Newton. Leizi also came along, I'm sure she'll love to meet you as well."

Didgit disappears alongside her words, leaving me alone with my own thoughts as I contemplate what she has suggested.

"So I should pretend to be someone I'm not?" I question myself through a whisper. I suppose she could be on to something, maybe if I act like I'm strong, people won't be as quick to dismiss me. What was the saying? Something along the lines of 'fake it until you make it'?

For the first time since my name was called during the Reaping, I smile to myself, as I reach into my back pocket for something that I hope is still there.

"There you are," I breathe a sigh of relief, as my fingers grip onto the folded and creased paper of what I had been reading prior to the Reaping. I bring the paper to my lap, proceeding to unfold and smooth it out, with the colors and artwork popping with exuberant life. It's an old, _old_, type of book, from long before the birth of Panem. They called them comic books, and although the true original ones are very hard to come by, there is a niche category of reprinted issues in the District 3 library that not many people know, or likely care about.

I find them therapeutic to read; they're like an escape from the world we live in today. My days are filled with reading about brave heroes, evil villains, and superpowers beyond my wildest imagination.

I examine the front cover, admiring the artwork of my favorite superhero of all, Superman. The way he's depicted flying on the cover - confident, charismatic, victorious - that's how I want to feel. It's as I stare into his electric blue eyes, and my eyes glance over the powerful House of El 'S' symbol on his chest, that I truly realize who I want to pretend to be.

I stuff the comic book back into my pocket as I leap up from the bed, likely creasing it in the process. No matter, I'll be able to afford thousands of them by the time I make it back home, because I'm going to win! I'm going to be like Superman, a hero . . . and heroes don't lose.

* * *

**Cinder Halloway**

**~16~**

**District 4**

* * *

"Helloooo?" My voice bounces off of the hallway walls, as the continuous rapping of my finger joints on the door occupy the otherwise silent portion of the train carriage. I stop knocking momentarily, only in order to see if anything is audible from the other side, however it quickly becomes apparent that there is no immediate response.

"For fucksake," I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes as I reach up to the door again, with my movement quickly followed by another round of flurried knocks that should be enough to draw anyone's attention.

"Ophiuchus, can you just open the door? Now is not the time to cry!"

It has been several hours since we boarded the train, both Ophiuchus and I, as the two of us were accompanied by our Escort. I had been taking it all in, appreciating the moment as was what I have been working so hard to achieve my whole life. Of course, my trepidatious father thought I was too premature, he thought I should have waited until I am eighteen - but what does he know? He has always been weak, a pushover; if it weren't for my mother, we would be nowhere.

Call me impatient, but I know I'm ready, and I am going to enjoy every damn moment from the second I volunteered, to the moment I shove my machete through the throat of the last tribute. Naturally, I met our mentor, Amphitrite, alongside Ophiuchus where we introduced ourselves and gave her a good idea of what we are capable of.

Except . . . it was all me. Ophiuchus might as well have not been there, he barely said a word from the moment he entered the car back in District 4, up until he excused himself to retreat to his quarters.

It's not the best sign admittedly. A District Partner who has little interest with what's going on is not exactly going to be ideal with cohesion, meaning I'm going to have to work extra hard. See, I have a vision for how I want these Games to play out. I've watched countless Hunger Games of the past, I've gone through various strategies and history lessons back in the academy; I know what it takes to win, and in order for that to happen, everything needs to play out exactly the way I want.

The first thing, I'm a Career tribute, and a damn proud one. However, more often than not, when the Career's aren't a cohesive group, it leads to their downfall. I can't afford any of the traditional Career tributes to drop off, not when I know they're capable - and I absolutely know Ophiuchus is capable.

I remember him from the Academy back in District 4, albeit pretty vaguely. He had been quite promising in his earlier teen years, however he quit to the surprise of many, claiming that it was not a life for him, and opting to live more freely and simply with a life on the ocean.

That's what is missing from him now, that pride of being a Career, that killer instinct that will help us to thrive in the arena. It's in my best interest to get him to change his mind, and although there was once a time where I'm sure it would've been impossible, the fact that he has been Reaped is sure to alter his outlook on the Hunger Games. His survival instincts are bound to kick into gear.

However, already it is proving to still be difficult. Due to his confinement to his room, I can only assume he is still coming to terms with what has happened, and his lack of a response to my calls clearly suggests he isn't in the mood to talk.

My mind flashes back to when we were both on stage, with the friendly smile he showed me as we shook hands. I had squeezed quite hard out of habit, a way of trying to assert myself over most new people, as they always tend to overlook me. However, as a result this probably intimidated him more than I would've liked further forming a wedge between us. I frown at the memory, scolding my past self at the decision to do so. I should've at least played friendly at first, I may be an asshole but acting like one isn't going to strengthen my bond with a friendly person like Ophiuchus.

Perhaps I try a different approach? Maybe I should flatter him, flirt with him a little, I know I'm good-looking so this could certainly be an option. With this in mind, I knock loudly once more, impatience beginning to get the better of me, however still wanting to get on good terms.

"Come on Ophiuchus, I'll make it worth your while!" I call out, sighing in exasperation. To my surprise, it only takes a few moments after I've spoken before the door swings open, revealing a rather irritated Ophiuchus behind it, with eyes that struggle to hide the pain of what he is going through. The hurt still appears apparent on his face, and as my eyes scan his towering body, I can't help but notice the raw grazes on his balled fists, with a couple dribbles of blood emitting from a select few of his knuckles.

For a moment I step back, alarmed by the apparent harm he has inflicted upon himself through what I can only assume was frustration relief. I'm the one that has been annoying him for the past few minutes, would it be out of the realm of possibility for him to strike me?

Ophiuchus seems to notice my gaze on his injured fist, before he coughs and hides his hand behind his back, allowing both of us to glance at each other.

"Uh, is your hand alright?" I question, opting to address the injury.

"Yeah, yeah... I may have gotten a bit carried away..." he trails off, opening the door a little more to reveal a dint that has been punched into the wall separating the bathroom and his bedroom. I cringe at the damage, imagining the pain his fist may be experiencing as a result.

"Ouch, that must have hurt," I speak up, taking a step closer to him. He shakes his head bitterly, tsking as he reveals his hand once more, and glaring at it angrily.

"In hindsight, it was really fucking stupid. Now that puts me at a disadvantage - as if I already wasn't against Careers that have been training consistently the last several years," he mumbles, the self-doubt dripping heavily from his voice. I gaze at him for a moment, considering how I should approach this. If I'm to try and seduce him to have any control over him, now is probably the best time to do so. He is hurting, he is lacking in confidence, and all he needs is a little push.

I take another step towards him, this time causing us to only be a few inches apart, before I carefully reach out towards his injured hand, taking it softly in mine and bringing it closer to my face. Ophiuchus' eyes widen in confusion, his mouth becoming agape as he begins to work out what is going on.

"Don't you worry about it, how about you let me... take care of you?" I suggest, before bringing his hand to my face and preparing to press my lips to it. However, before I manage to pull this off, Ophiuchus' face contorts into one of anger, as he abruptly rips his hand from my own and shields it away as if I was going to attack him.

"What the fuck!?" I cry out in anger, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at him. He does the same to me, although his gaze is filled more so with surprise and bewilderment.

"I could ask you the same thing. What the hell are you doing?" He replies, his voice shrill with confusion.

"I thought it was pretty clear what I was doing! What's the issue?" I snort back, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Well first off I only just met you," Ophiuchus points out, causing me to roll my eyes.

"Oh please, we only have a week before the games start, that's only so long to live a little," I retort. Ophiuchus takes a deep breath, his face calming and no longer appearing annoyed, before he opens his eyes again and continues on.

"Secondly, I have a girlfriend, Cinder," he says softly. My eyebrows drop a little, as does my demeanor when I put two and two together. I can't help but take a step back, feeling slightly guilty for having put him in that position.

"Oh... I should have thought about that," I murmur, no longer meeting his gaze. Ophiuchus chuckles for the first time, waving his hand once in the air dismissively.

"Don't worry, as long as we've got that point across now," he smiles, before turning towards the bed and plonking down on it with a sigh. "My girlfriend, Monica - she's pregnant apparently."

My eyes widen at the news, my feelings for Ophiuchus' situation beginning to turn to that of anguish. I step into the room, closing the door behind me as I fold my arms.

"Well that's quite the bombshell to drop on me," I scold him, my voice barley above a whisper. He snickers at my words, a sad sort of bitterness identifiable in his demeanor.

"I said the same thing to Monica, she only told me when she said goodbye at the Justice Building," he shakes his head, hands gripping his knees as he sits on the bed. I can't help but pinch the bridge of my nose, resenting the situation I've been put into here. I only came here to try and get Ophiuchus on board with the Careers, but instead I've gotten his sob story - and it's actually working.

_God dammit,_ I think to myself as I put a hand on my hip and glance at him once more.

"I-I'm so sorry Ophiuchus," I speak up. He laughs at my words, shrugging in unison.

"I mean, you have nothing to be sorry for. What can you do?" He points out. This time it's my turn to smile, as I fold my arms once more and raise my eyes to his.

"Well... I can think of one thing," I reply softly, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

"What would that be?" He asks curiously.

"Join me. Join us. Become a Career," I suggest. Immediately, Ophiuchus' spirits begin to dampen again, his shoulders slouching as a grimace becomes apparent on his face. It takes a moment for him to say anything, and when he eventually does, it isn't promising.

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you can manage to say?" I question, my voice now a little more authoritative. "Not to mention, I think that was the most unenthusiastic 'oh' that I've ever heard!"

"That would be because I'm not enthusiastic about the idea. I don't like the idea of the Careers, why do you think I left the Academy all those years ago?" Ophiuchus points out. "They're bloodthirsty killers who are usually terrible people - look at Romulus from last year."

I raise an eyebrow at his words, before feeling a scowl form on my face.

"So you're saying that I'm inherently like that? Just because I'm a Career?" I challenge him. Ophiuchus thinks for a moment, likely choosing his words carefully, before finally forming a response.

"Well in all honesty Cinder, I don't really know you that well, I have no idea what you're like," he says softly.

"Exactly! Are you going to base your judgment of _all _Careers over some bad past Careers? Because I can tell you Ophiuchus, I didn't volunteer because I'm a 'bloodthirsty killer'. I volunteered, because I've been trying all of my life to win," I inform him. Ophiuchus doesn't have much to say to this, in fact at this point he looks deep in thought as my words begin to sink in.

"We need numbers Ophiuchus, and you're in a unique position that not many other tributes are in; you're already from a Career District, instantly qualifying you as a member. It would be a shame to waste that opportunity out of blind hate and pride," I continue softly.

"But what if I could win without having to stoop to that level, without becoming what I abandoned already," he whispers, appearing heavily divided. I can't help but allow my grin to form; all he needs is that little push over the edge.

"Ophi - you said you preferred to be called that, right? - if I'm being completely honest, your best bet of winning is likely through joining the pack. If you hate the Careers that much, do it not for yourself, but for your girlfriend, and your child," I speak up, trying to appeal to his weaknesses. Ophiuchus' response is to lean forward with his hands rubbing his face, sighing heavily as he appears to give in to the idea of it. Now it's time for that icing on the cake.

"Besides, if you really hate some of the other Careers that much, it'll only make it easier for you to kill them later on. Call it easy access," I shrug my shoulders. Ophiuchus looks up, a burning drive hidden in his eyes as he glances at me whilst biting his lip indecisively.

"I think you might have a good point," he responds quietly, before standing abruptly, with his tall frame towering above me once more. "You've given me something to think about, I guess I'll reserve judgment until I've seen the other Careers."

I smile at Ophiuchus, before aiming my thumb behind my shoulder to motion towards the door.

"Speaking of... the Reapings are going to replay on the TV any moment now, do you want to come and look at who we're up against?" I question with a playful smirk. This time, Ophiuchus returns the smirk, a determined expression now set upon his face.

"I guess if I want to make it back home, I should start getting to know my competition," he accepts, leading me to smile at him before heading towards the main carriage where Amphitrite awaits us.

I honestly thought Ophiuchus would require a lot more manipulation to get him to do what I want, but perhaps I can get him on the same page through far less. As far as I'm concerned, I could even consider him a close ally, or better yet... a friend.

* * *

**Burton Hansen**

**~14~**

**District 9**

* * *

Silence. Finally, after so long, after the constant bickering, the eternal insults, I am finally away from Terra and Millet. I sigh in relief, relishing the quiet space as my back sinks backwards into the soft, cushiony bed. I never thought it would end; the introductions, the strategizing, all of it constantly delayed by the interruptions from Millet, and only worsened by Terra snapping back and trying to shut him down.

Honestly, I felt bad for Terra - at least she was trying to assist us. Millet seemed far too concerned about making himself seem better than Terra. I had always respected Millet by recognizing him as a Victor, but after today I can't picture him as anything other than arrogant and abrasive.

However, if there was someone I felt more sorry for than others, it was Amaryllis. The poor girl, younger than even myself at thirteen years old, the last thing she needed was our Mentor - or should I say Mentors plural - bickering and chastising one another. I think back, and am unable to recall a single moment where she spoke, the entire time she had sat trembling, eyes widened and skin perspiring quite abundantly as if she was on the verge of having a panic attack on multiple occasions.

I was tempted at several moments to attempt to break the tension, and try and loosen her up with some wildly inappropriate jokes based on whatever the topic at the time may have been, however I did catch myself short, having been made aware of my habit of doing so before I left District 9. I think back to what my mom and Jit, my stepfather, had told me - keep my head down, stay out of the limelight, fade into the background.

I smirk to myself, shaking my head with a small snort emitting from my nose. Doing that is nothing I'm new to. I learnt my lesson after I started middle school, my habit of behaving opposite of what I should be in certain scenarios was picked up quite quickly by my schoolmates. I'll be the first to admit, I was bullied for it. I became known as a buzzkill, and soon I learnt to become invisible, and focus on what mattered - my studies.

Soon enough, the bullies of my year dropped out to work in the wheat fields, something that I only did shift work for on occasion. I had no intention of dropping out to work the rest of my life in the wheat fields, and once they were gone, my studies were blissful. I made sure not to make the same mistakes, I flourished in my academics, and I remained under the radar.

That was of course, until today, the day I was Reaped for the Hunger Games. I've learnt my lessons, and have already implemented the same strategy into this game; remain under the radar, and float to the end while every other tribute tears each other apart. I know how to survive in the wild; my District is so rural that most of it could be considered 'the wild'. I also know how to be evasive; I had to learn to outrun the bullies back in school.

I may be young, but as long as I'm not a target, and don't put myself in harms way, I could be okay for the time being. With this in mind, I rest my head against the bed frame, closing my eyes as I continue to enjoy the peace and quiet that I had sought for so long.

However, just as quickly as I had enjoyed it, it's immediately taken away from me. A couple of rapid knocks against my bedroom door jolt me in surprise, giving no time for wondering who is the source of the knocks.

"Burton, it's Terra. The Reaping recap is about to start, you should come out and watch it with us to see who your competition is," Terra calls out, causing me to groan in frustration.

"Watch it with who?" I reply with skepticism.

"Don't worry, I promise Millet won't be there. I made sure he is occupied so we can actually focus," she informs me through the door, amusement evident in her tone. I snort, before pushing myself off of the bed.

"Alright, I'll meet you out there," I sigh, before I hear Terra's footsteps drift further away back to the main carriage.

"Great, I can't wait to see these monstrous tributes that I'm going to have to somehow outlast," I grumble, before pushing open the door. Initially my eyes are lowered towards the floor, however that quickly changes when from the top of my field of vision, I see the door opposite me swinging open. My head immediately looks up, causing me to lock eyes with Amaryllis. We stare at each other for a moment, with Amaryllis looking like a deer caught in headlights, and myself biting my lower lip at the awkwardness of the situation.

Neither Amaryllis or I have spoken much to each other at all, in fact I think we have made it our own synchronized mission to avoid each other at all costs. She was quick to escape to her room once we both realized that Terra and Millet appeared to prefer arguing with one another rather than guiding us, and understandably she hasn't made it her goal to approach me. This would be the first time either one of us have been alone with each other.

The frown on Amaryllis' face suggests she certainly isn't happy about the fact, so to put her at ease, I cough into my closed fist before breaking the ice.

"Look, we don't have to do this. I can keep my distance, and we can do our own separate thing," I murmur, scratching the back of my head as she recoils slightly in surprise.

"Oh," she squeaks, appearing taken aback. "Um, thanks... how did you know I wanted that though?"

I smile softly at her, before taking a step out of the doorway towards the main carriage.

"I can read people pretty well, plus I plan on doing the same thing anyways. As long as you leave me alone, I will be happy to leave you alone as well," I reply, before continuing onwards and leaving Amaryllis staring at me from behind with her mouth agape.

_I'm glad I could establish that nice and early,_ I praise myself as I enter the main carriage. Amaryllis follows me silently from behind, as we both meet the gaze of Terra, who sits with a leg folded over the other, and piercing eyes attempting to appear approachable. That's understandable, both Amaryllis and I are quite young, and Terra usually has a pretty stony and intimidating attitude to her. I can at least appreciate the attempt to make us feel comfortable.

"Ah, you're both here! Come, come, it's about to start!" Terra exclaims, patting the cushiony surface of the sofa to implore us to sit beside her. I sit on the cushion beside Terra, whilst Amaryllis seats herself on the other section of the L-shaped sofa, folding her arms and turning her body to face the large screen that opposes us all.

"Now I want both of you two pay close attention to who you see Reaped from the other Districts, some of them will be dangerous, but others can be great candidates for allies - this is where I started to scope out my alliance group from," Terra informs us, looking down at the ground momentarily with a frown embedded on her face, seemingly at the memory of her fallen comrades. I suppress the urge to laugh at the idea of allies; poor Terra has no idea that I - and likely Amaryllis - have no intention of allying up with the other tributes.

"The threats should be easy to identify, I tend to have a knack for avoiding violent people," I point out, causing Amaryllis to eye me with suspicion for a moment.

_Why did she do that? Does she think I'm dropping hints that I'm some deranged murderer hiding in plain sight?_

I shake my head slightly, trying to get the thought out of my head. I'm clearly overthinking things, something that can be dangerous considering the situation I'm in. It's a good thing to never underestimate what the Games may throw at you, but it's also a good idea to not spiral into paranoia from such minor things. Who cares what Amaryllis thinks of me? As long as she keeps her distance, everything will be okay.

"That's certainly going to help you then Burton, especially when we get through these first couple of Career District Reapings - oh here we are, it's starting," Terra exclaims, turning up the volume of the TV from a screen that rests embedded into the arm of the sofa. The three of us turn to the screen, with the Capitol seal flashing across the screen accompanied by the distinctive tune of the Panemian Anthem. The program only plays the first verse of the anthem, before the big letters of 'District 1', accompanied by their traditional District seal, are displayed. I take a deep breath, preparing myself to focus on every single one of these tributes through a quick and brief assessment.

The first tribute is the girl from District 1, Vienna Lathing according to their Escort. She volunteers without issue, and despite making her way up in a more reserved fashion, I can't help but allow my jaw to drop at the beauty of her. I frown shortly after, catching myself before I make my attraction obvious, but not before I need to reposition myself to relieve the growing discomfort located within my pants.

"It doesn't matter how attractive she is, she's still an enemy. She won't hesitate to kill me," I mutter under my breath, thankfully without notice from either Terra or Amaryllis. I continue to read her, this time looking past her beauty and trying to grasp at who she is as a person. It's no surprise that District 1 continues to be the most genetically gifted in the looks department out of the Districts, but my question is, why does Vienna cover up her beauty so much? The clothes she wears aren't extravagant or skimpy like many others in the crowd; in fact it looks like she has gone to the effort to cover up any bit of skin on her.

"She'll be popular with sponsors," Terra speaks up. I nod my head in affirmation; it almost goes without saying at this point.

Shortly after, the next tribute comes forward in the form of another volunteer, with a surname I recognize as being the same as a past tribute from District 1. Shortly after the boy reaches the stage, their Escort confirms my realization when she asks him the question - it turns out Adonis Lockheart is the younger brother of Sienna Lockheart, a Career tribute that died a few years ago. Adonis is tall, muscular, and also has District 1's defining quality of attractiveness. If I had to admit, he looks ten times more intimidating than I remember Sienna being. It's a safe bet to say that Adonis is a sure threat in this Hunger Games.

"Those two are easily Careers, watch out for them," Terra insists.

_I'm way ahead of you Terra._

District 1's Reaping quickly wraps up, and before I know it, the screen is already displaying the famous District 2 seal, one I see quite often due to their sparse amount of Victors. Terra begins to lean forward, whilst Amaryllis appears to hold her breath, eyes wider than usual out of a likely fear of what's to come. Both of them know, District 2 tributes are almost always the biggest threats of the arena.

Kicking things off, a girl strides forward to volunteer with absolute confidence, and when she reaches the stage we are quick to learn that her name is Andromache Poyner. She's as pretty as she is fierce, and already I can gather the assumption that she will be towards the top of the Career Pack hierarchy. She is an easy one to label, she's a threat.

Next is an apparently controversial volunteer, one that I don't quite understand how it is so, but regardless I can sense the heavy competition between the volunteers. It is District 2 after all; I expect nothing less. Ultimately, the boy that is the first to utter the words "I volunteer", is the one that I see standing on stage after a few moments, a boy named Thanatos Elegia. His physique is intimidating, and his demeanor is serious - if I had to pick someone that I am the most terrified of so far, it would be Thanatos. He is undoubtedly a threat.

"Some serious competition from Two, Cato would be happy," Terra comments.

"How the hell are we meant to kill these type of people?" Amaryllis speaks up, for what feels like the first time. Both Terra and I glance over at her in surprise, before Terra focuses back on the TV with only a few words in response.

"Numbers. You're stronger in numbers."

Both Amaryllis and I look at each other in response, with Terra having suggested what both of us seemingly want to do the opposite of. Alliances can be beneficial, but they can also be liabilities. I already know how I plan to beat tributes like the Careers, it involves patience, and their own physical deterioration.

District 3 is now flashing on the screen, and ultimately, they are nowhere near as intimidating as the previous Career tributes. The first tribute is a girl named Didgit Lancaster, who this time around is an actual Reaped tribute. Peculiarly enough, Didgit laughs to herself as she walks up to the stage, which many I would imagine would find as strange behavior. Normally I would be able to agree with them, however I can detect the bitterness, and almost disbelief within her tone, that suggests her laugh sources from a bewilderment of being Reaped. I certainly wouldn't call her a threat as of yet, but she very well may not be someone to disregard. I'll label her as a wildcard.

Following Didgit, the first twelve year old tribute is Reaped, a young boy named Kirby Heyward that cannot for the life of him convince me that he's handling the situation all that well. I feel my stomach drop a little as his innocent face flashes on the screen, alongside even Amaryllis and Terra shifting uncomfortably as they stare at the screen. I subconsciously put Kirby into the non-threat category.

Once again my ears perk up at the sight of another Career District, this time being Four. It doesn't take very long for their first tribute to come in the form of a volunteer, as a girl named Cinder Halloway deviously volunteers with a smirk embedded on her face. Interestingly enough, she's the youngest Career tribute so far, volunteering a little prematurely at sixteen. However her demeanour and confidence alone is enough to place her in the threat category.

Shortly after, the only Career tribute that is Reaped rather than a volunteer, comes in the form of Ophiuchus Sandsea, or Ophi as he insists on the stage. There's something about him that suggests a little bit of a sodden spirit, perhaps the reluctance that he seems to have with being Reaped assists that feeling. Regardless, he seems to be in very good shape, plus his charisma that he manages to produce after his initial shock is surely enough to win over the Capitol audience. Easily another threat.

"The Careers look... strong," Amaryllis squeaks, concern palpable in her tone.

"As per usual," Terra snorts, a bitter sound in her voice. I nod my head in agreement as the District 5 seal comes onto the screen, now beginning to pay attention to that. Many other tributes would have their attention wane following the Career Districts, but I know better than that.

The first tribute is a girl that is Reaped, named Yelena Lantsov. Despite being on the older side, I can't gather too much about her that sets her apart from your generic tribute, other than the fact that she seems to be a little more extroverted than most. Her ability to talk could come in handy, especially during interviews, but for now I would label her as a non-threat.

The boy however, is one of the strangest looking tributes I've ever seen. He has to have some melanin deficiency or something of the sort, not to mention his lack of emotion as he steps forward after volunteering. I see Terra's eyebrows furrow in confusion as Slane Ampersand volunteers, probably trying to work out why this strange looking boy of fourteen would volunteer. I wish I had the answers, but for now I don't, which is why Slane is a wildcard as of now.

Finally, we reach the halfway point as the District 6 seal flashes on the screen for a few moments. The first Reaping is rather uneventful, as a girl named Lucille Fforde is Reaped, managing to come up quietly without much of a scene. She's a pretty girl, but other than that, she doesn't reveal much that would suggest she's anyone noteworthy. I'll have to observe her during training, however for the time being she falls under the non-threat category.

Things really kick into gear however with the next tribute, with a boy named Otto Van Meitch also volunteering. The way he acts when he makes it up to the stage however is nothing short of strange. Proclaiming that he should be well known by all, acting as of he is some sort of royalty, all the while being draped by rags for clothes and grime from what I can only presume are the streets. It leaves me scratching my head, and I honestly can't tell if this is all an act.

"What on Earth?" Amaryllis whispers to herself.

"Quite a few volunteers this year..." Terra speaks up, a hint of concern evident in her voice.

I shrug my shoulders, brushing off any concern I have for Otto, judging by his weedy frame and clear malnourishment, I wouldn't be surprised if little Kirby Heyward from District 3 can snap him like a twig. Non-threat.

I wish I could say the same for District 7, but once they're first tribute is established, I am instantly aware that there is more to be wary of on the horizon. Yet another volunteer comes out of the woodwork, a girl named Amazon Abiodun, who already looks physically formidable as she strides forward with confidence and ferocity. The more I watch her, the more my discomfort grows with the competition I have against me. Amazon is a certain threat.

To make the matter worse, her District Partner is yet another volunteer, a towering mass that looks to be the largest tribute as of so far. Malik Durbe makes his way up with excitement, and as I see more of him, I grow further uncertain of my chances. Somehow, both Amaryllis and I exchange glances at one another, with her eyes being wide with fear at the sight of Malik. I can only hope I didn't reciprocate the same expression. Malik is an indisputable threat.

I'm able to take a little sigh of relief when it comes to District 8, with the first tribute being a girl that is Reaped rather than a volunteer. Lindsey Clarke is the girl's name, and similarly to Yelena from District 5, she doesn't set off any alarm bells in my mind, she seems to be a fairly ordinary girl on the surface. For now I will mark her down as a non-threat.

Moving on from Lindsey, I am once again taken aback by the surprising occurrence of an outer-district volunteer. Nokia Adamar is quick to volunteer for the boy that is Reaped, and interestingly enough it appears to be in order to join Lindsey in the Hunger Games. The two of them could know each other, despite Lindsey's clear look of confusion by this. I don't know what Nokia has up his sleeve, but if he's confident enough to volunteer his life for this, he must be semi-capable, right? Until proven otherwise, I'll have to label him as a wildcard.

"Oh no," Amaryllis whimpers, as District 9's seal displays on the screen. Terra gives a small chuckle, before leaning forward and placing a hand on Amaryllis reassuringly.

"Don't worry, you were fine during the Reaping," Terra insists. I raise an eyebrow, twisting my mouth slightly as I return my gaze to the screen. If anything, I hope I was forgetful - that's the only way my strategy is going to work in this thing.

I pay little attention to when Amaryllis' name is called, having witnessed it for myself in the flesh when I watched it on the projection in the Town Square. However, I lean forward slightly as I watch Autumn reading my name out for the second time today. To my relief, when the cameras eventually focus on me I look anything other than interesting. If I had to describe how I looked, it would be unreadable. My face looked content, despite the crushing feelings I was going through internally, and thanks to my young age and lack of remarkable physical qualities, I do a good job of not capturing the audiences interest.

Terra glances at me, mouthing the words "you smashed it", I suppose in an attempt to support me. Little does she know, I'm happy to have done the complete opposite. I can already feel the disinterest coming from the Capitol, and before too long, the big threats will be at one another's throats, and I can float along to the end... well at least in theory.

Before too long, the image of both Amaryllis and I on the stage disappears, only to be replaced by the rural and humid looking District 10 landscape, they're accompanying seal also appearing over it. The first tribute is a girl that is Reaped, her name being Nera Abbadelli. She appears shocked, and hesitant to go up, but eventually has no choice but to do so. She's an attractive girl, and she seems surprisingly athletic from what I can see, if I had to place her anywhere I would think she is more of a wildcard.

The boy is an interesting case as well, his name being Alex Turner. He is only sixteen, yet he puts himself forward as a volunteer for whatever reason. He appears to be good looking, meaning the Capitol will like him for that, plus he's a volunteer so they'll enjoy that even more. Not to mention, he could certainly have some capabilities if he is volunteering, I can't put him any less than a wildcard.

"District 10 seem quite impressive this year," I speak up softly, the two of Terra and Amaryllis looking at me in response.

"I was just thinking that, perhaps they're solid ally options?" Terra prods, not so subtly trying to push me towards allying with the pair from Ten.

"Perhaps," I respond, knowing full well that I won't be doing anything of the sort.

Already we are moving on to District 11, and to my delight, neither of the pair pique my interest as District 10 did. Loretta Kavanagh is the female tribute that is selected, coming in the form of a small, unsuspecting frame that rivals twelve year-old Kirby Heyward. Although she doesn't physically threaten me, the way her eyes dart from side to side, and the movements that she makes as if she is on the balls of her feet, ready to flee at any moment; I predict she could be a more evasive tribute such as my self. However, I still don't think she will be much of a threat - as long as I'm faster than her. Non-threat.

I'm taken aback by how angry the next tribute is, that being Mot Whitaker. He doesn't strike me as someone that thinks rationally; in fact I think he is easily blinded by emotions. I find myself lacking concern about him, already placing him in the non-threat category.

"Finally," Amaryllis breathes as District 12's Reaping commences. I too feel weary from the Reapings, and silently pray that District 12 is once again nobody to worry about. Elyanna Aspen is the Reaped female, and I find myself not being able to tell much about her. She seems fairly delicate in all honesty, and although she certainly is pretty, I don't find her to appear as much of a threat, but rather a non-threat.

Zander Hoxley on the other hand, I'm a little more intrigued by. He seems awfully calm - dare I say confident - for someone that has just been Reaped. For someone living in District 12, he seems to have a reasonably well-fed physique, and as he talks with his Escort, I detect some sort of charm to him that certainly would help him attracting allies. I eye him down until the Reaping ends, my alarm bells beginning to go off a little. I think this may be the first District 12 tribute that I deem a threat.

Terra switches off the screen, before glancing either side at the two of us.

"Well, thoughts?"

"I think I'm screwed," Amaryllis groans, rubbing her eyes out of exhaustion. I stand up, looking at Terra for a moment before finally responding.

"There are certainly some noteworthy competitors, I need time to reflect," I say softly. Terra bites her lip, before nodding her head and motioning towards the hallway.

"Of course, feel free to have a think about it, I'll see you for dinner!" She exclaims with a smile. I return it momentarily, before darting off towards my room thinking heavily about my competition; and oh boy do I have some things to think about.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I'm not really sure how to start this... I'm back? I know it feels like I've done this a couple of times now, and I really do have to apologize for how long it has taken to complete this chapter. I'm going to be real with you guys - I was simply burnt out. Uni took a toll on me this year, and once holidays began, I wanted nothing more than to relax and not think about working. Writing falls under a hobby for me, and trust me, when I'm in the mood I **_**love**_** writing. I think I just needed a prolonged break from anything relating to writing, whether it is uni work or even this story. So from the bottom of my heart, I'm terribly sorry for the wait. I really wanted to feel inspired to write, I didn't want to rush one out that felt half-assed, so ultimately here we are. **

**I think it goes without saying that COVID has royally fucked all of us this year, and the lockdowns that my state in my country was put under was extremely demotivating for doing anything. Thankfully, my country and state have a lot more freedom now, and I will be feeling more motivated to continue with Heir. No matter what, I always plan to finish this story, I just don't know how long it will take is all. I know many people will have forgotten about this story and stopped reading, but I will continue no matter what as it is my creative outlet, and I love where I am taking it.**

**Speaking of which, let's summarize this chapter! We got to meet Nera, Kirby, Cinder, and Burton, feel free to let me know what you thought of them (and the District Partners that may have featured in their POV's). I figured including a recap of the Reaping's for Burton's POV was a good opportunity to remind you of who the other tributes are, as it has been a while since the Reaping chapters. I'll be getting started on the next chapter soon, which will be named **_**Train Ride III: Hostility**_**, and will consist of POV's from Mot (D11), Lindsey (D8), Adonis (D1), and Elyanna (D12). Thank you so much for reading, Happy Holidays, and I'll see you next time!**

**-Winter**


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